Lyra
by luinrina
Summary: It started as a normal day. But the very next moment, Chloe was pulled into what would become the biggest adventure of her life – one without return. She was given a choice along the road, but did she really have one to begin with?
1. Prologue: When the World Crumbles

This story was inspired by the fantastic universe the Botosphere created and I can't thank the three ladies enough. I recommend you read their stories (www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2096745/Botosphere); not only because they're wonderfully well-written, but because – with the Botosphere's consent – I'm basing my story on their universe and even use a few of their OCs. I tried keeping things easy to follow for those who aren't familiar with the Botosphere's stories, however.

I then want to thank my friend Terri who did her magic in betaing. Thanks, hon. *hugs*

Disclaimer: I don't any of the Transformers - sadly. I'm just using them for my muse's amusement and promise to return them (eventually). I can't make any promises for the state they will be in though. xD

And now, on to the prologue:

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><p>– prologue –<p>

**When the World Crumbles**

It started as a normal day, but it went downhill soon after.

She was in school, taking her final math exams, when suddenly, all around her, the windows broke and rained down on the students and teacher. A blow hit the building, making the floor and walls shake heavily. She fell from her chair and onto the floor. For a moment, everything was eerily silent and then deafening noise washed over her. It wasn't loud enough to drown out the screams of panic and terror though. Blinking up into blinding light, she saw people running for their lives, not caring whether or not they stepped on their classmates lying hurt and helpless or cowering frozen on the floor. Glancing up, she saw dust and concrete particles raining down from the ceiling, covering the classroom in a thick white blanket.

Groaning, she tried to get up and follow her classmates out of the room. She couldn't move however. Belatedly she realized the pain shooting up her arm and into her shoulder. Glancing down, she saw the huge glass shard stuck deeply in the back of her hand. Blood welled up and spilt over. She shouldn't have been able to hear it, but the sound of her blood dripping on the floor was overly loud in her ears. Checking herself over, she glanced down her torso. Her legs were stuck under what she assumed had once been her table, and the pain exploding in her hip when she moved told her the deformed furniture had squished her shinbones when toppling over and onto her. But that wasn't the worst yet.

Directly above the table, she saw two huge bloody red eyes staring back at her. The color itself was unnerving, but the face belonging to those eyes belonged to a creature sprung directly out of her worst nightmare. A claw reached out, closing in on her.

She started screaming.

…

It was a rude awakening. Rude and painful. _Extremely_ painful.

She tried sitting up and found she couldn't move. At all. Something was holding her down, she thought, though she couldn't find the source or feel what stopped her from moving. She would have understood why she couldn't sit up had there been a belt or something similar strapped over her to keep her still. But she simply felt nothing that could pin her down like that. So she tried sitting up again, with the same result as before: nothing. She couldn't even move a muscle. It felt like she was frozen.

Taking a deep breath, she found that even breathing was hard. And painful. Why was she so much in pain anyway? What had happened that she couldn't move and hurt all over like hell? And then she recalled the bloody red eyes and the claw reaching out to grab her. Suddenly, she remembered again and sat up – at least she tried to. Only she still couldn't move. She thought she had died, but the constant pain reminded her that she was still alive. So where were the doctors with their morphine when you needed them?

Trying to make sense of what had happened, she sifted through her memories. There were clear pictures of boring days at school, chaotic Thanksgiving meetings with her eccentric aunt's family, the one or other argument she had had with her mother, the calm voice of her grandfather explaining to her his latest project at work, she and her dad laughing about a joke someone had told, her grandmother's lullabies when she was a small kid… Nothing out of the ordinary.

But then she remembered the excruciating noise she had heard, before the world around her exploded, sounding like even the smallest being was going to be erased to extinction. Flashes of darkness and light accompanied the sounds. She recalled the frightening sight of her classroom being a place full of rubble and dust, like a bomb had been dropped onto the building and exploded within the school. Bodies had lain everywhere, some motionless, some ripped to pieces. And there had been screaming, a lot of screaming wafting through the air. She once again heard frantic footsteps, hurrying from left to right, from right to left. And then there had been growling thunder before the world faded to pitch blackness.

Frowning, she tried to dig deeper into her memories. In her mind she saw the air shimmer red, two bloody orbs boring into her mind through thick fog. She also recalled the huge shadow standing above her while something light scurried across her body, pricking her over and over again. Suddenly, she remembered the blood-curling scream that had risen from deep within her, but that had never been let out. Instead, searing hot steal had cut into her, ripping her open. Gratefully, darkness had taken her, but the pain had still followed her into the abyss. Now more than ever she felt the urge to let out the scream that was still stuck in her throat. She remembered voices speaking to her, cold and scary. Recalled excruciating pain and maddening laughter. Crunching her eyes shut, she tried to will away the memories, the nightmare that felt so real. She didn't want to remember. Couldn't they all just leave her be?

Out from somewhere, there rose a scream so intense her blood froze in her veins. She couldn't pinpoint the direction where it came from, but the squeaking of metal and more thunder followed the tortured cries. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the noise was gone and everything fell into deadly silence.

She felt tired and close to giving up fighting – against what, she didn't know. Only her intuition told her that she had to keep going or she would die. The memories she had dredged up faded back to flashes of light and darkness, making no sense whatsoever anymore. Colors of all kinds ran together, mixing up and forming indiscernible patterns that hurt her eyes just trying to watch them. She shut her eyes tightly and focused more on hearing, but everything was still as silent as in a cemetery.

Then there was light once more, icy yet searingly hot …

… followed by extreme darkness. Slowly sinking back into the abyss she had woken up from, she tried to escape the pain that engulfed her like a cocoon, never to let go again. Spidery hands raced through her spine and ripped it open, fire slashed through her veins, ice crawled through her like an avalanche crashing down the mountain and killing every living in its wake. She couldn't escape.

She let lose the scream she had held up for so long.

And then, finally, there was gratifying relief when everything ended and total darkness swept over her, erasing all memories.

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><p>What do you think? Engaging start? Not so much? Let me know please. Reviews are always love.<p> 


	2. Familiar Unfamiliar

Thanks for the lovely reviews, Nuri and Eowyn! I hope, though, that a few more readers are going to tell me what they think of the story in a review. I can't improve the story without some feedback, praising and critical.

Again, thanks to Terri for agreeing to beta the beast this story has become.

Warning: Character death ahead, though it's not descriptive (at least I don't think it is).

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><p>– chapter one –<p>

**Familiar Unfamiliar**

It was a gradual awakening, at least this time. I didn't know for sure if it had been just a dream or reality, but the last I remembered was waking up to incredible pain. I even thought I remembered having been unable to move, but when flexing my fingers, they responded, just like they should. But still, something felt… off. Different. Totally not like I was used to, but still familiar enough. What had happened?

"She's coming around!" a male voice called. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint where I knew it from.

Instantly, there were footsteps hurrying my way, bringing reinforcement. Someone took my wrist and applied some pressure, without a doubt checking for the pulse. The person held on longer than necessary, but I dropped the thought when someone reached for my forehead. Slowly, the constant beeping of machinery nearby fought its way into my perception.

"Why's she not opening her eyes?" someone asked. It was another voice than the first I had heard, high-pitched, and the woman sounded nervous. Like she cared for me. I didn't know why she would; I certainly didn't recognize her voice, even though some inner voice told me I should.

"Give her time," a third voice, this one definitely unfamiliar, spoke reassuringly. "I assume her body is still in shock. She'll wake up fully soon, you'll see."

Taking a deep breath and testing for pain in my chest, I felt relieved there was none. Maybe the doctors had finally realized that morphine was what I needed most right now. Or maybe my spine was broken and I couldn't feel anything anymore. Then again, I had been able to flex my fingers. I tried again and they still worked. The slight sensation of something not being right stayed though, but I could move and that gave me hope.

Opening my eyes was incredibly hard, however, harder than I would have imagined. Frowning, I fought to just open them and see where I was. The light that filtered through the lids was intense and slightly hurting. Was my body automatically revolting against baring my naked eye to extreme light?

There was movement next to me. The light dimmed a bit when a shadow bent over. Then the first voice said, "Close the curtains, Linda. I bet the light is hurting her. That would explain why she doesn't just open her eyes." Then the shadow was gone again.

_Had he been reading my mind?_ I thought. The light and pain in my eyes vanished and I could finally open them. Nonetheless, I blinked rapidly for a while, getting used to my vision – which was _definitely _off. Certainly, I could still see normal colors, but there was more, much more. The lights on the ceiling for instance looked like I would have expected from a hospital room, but they had a flicker around them that I thought didn't quite belong there. When I turned my head to look at the wall, the color actually _vibrated_ in an intensity that made me sick from watching for too long. I had no words for what I saw when continuing to look around, but I supposed those were colors outside the normal spectrum a human could perceive. With the back of my mind, I heard Grandpa's explanation from several years ago again, but the memory quickly faded away, leaving a strange void within my chest. My heart still ached at his death. Though, it was also partly because, on the one hand, it was exciting to make the discovery that I perceived more now. But for the majority, I was scared of the changes I experienced and felt with my body.

Blinking again and thus shoving this thought aside for now, I turned my head to the right. There stood a middle-aged man with soft brown eyes and a friendly smile. Next to him stood a woman with a worrying expression on her face. Mom and Dad, I realized. My parents were here. Now I knew why two of the three voices had sounded familiar. And I was glad to see Mom, even though I just _knew_ I was going to hate the mothering attention I would get sooner than later. But the biggest surprise was Dad being here, right next to Mom. I hadn't seen him in several months, what with him being with the Navy and stationed on aircraft carriers or whatever. The more I was astonished – but _happy_ – to see him being here with me. His entire composure changed from nervous and strained to relieved and relaxed when he caught me looking, sending me his usual warm smile. I weakly returned it; I had missed him so very much.

A man in a white lab coat stepped up to my other side and I turned my attention toward him. "How are you feeling, Chloe?" he asked gently. His voice had a calming ring to it. The doctor's hand came up to touch my forehead again.

"Where am I?" I asked instead of answering the question – or rather rasped the three words. My throat was as dry as the desert and speaking felt like sand rubbing against metal.

The hand on my forehead moved to once stroke over my hair. "In the hospital," the doctor replied. "Some… people found you a couple of days ago, nearly dead. And to be frank, for a moment they thought you were."

I must have given an alarming expression, because Dad then hurried to add, "But it's all right now, sweetheart. You're very much alive and you're safe. No one's going to hurt you." After having sent me a reassuring smile, he glared at the doctor, as if he wanted to say, 'This is my teenage daughter, not a war-hardened soldier.'

Before I could think more closely about Dad nearly tripping over his words, speaking this fast, or wonder about the slight hesitation in the doctor's response before that, Mom broke out in tears, trying to unsuccessfully stifle her sobs. Dad wrapped her up in a hug to soothe her.

Then the doc's words broke through my still hazy mind. Days? How long had I been out of it? "What happened?" I asked, apprehensive. Images – memories? – flashed by my inner eyes. It was a colorful mix of chaos and I couldn't discern any details or clearer pictures. I still tried to see something, earning myself a headache, so I stopped and closed my eyes in silent frustration.

"We… had hoped you could tell us," Dad answered slowly, cautiously, still pressing Mom to his side. "You were found in a ruin, nearly buried by lots of rubble. A metal joist was what saved you from being crushed. You were strapped onto a sort of table beneath it."

His words unleashed another rush of pictures to flare up in my mind. There was lots of darkness, even more gray and some white in the mix. But with a certainty I had no idea where it came from I also recalled the incredible fear I'd felt. Those pictures weren't just images; those were my _memories_. A cold voice echoed in my mind… "We will win this time." Then there had been pain in my heart, a sudden coldness that immediately switched into heat. I had heard myself screaming before blackness took me.

Gasping for air, my eyes snapped open and I stared at the off-white ceiling. My chest rose in heavy pants and I frantically tried to grab for where my heart was. I needed to feel that it was still beating and all right. My arms and hands moved like they should, but it felt different, even more so than before when I'd only flexed my fingers. In the crook of my left arm there was the sting of the IV needle; it felt like the gentle kiss of Mom in comparison to the pain I had endured. Dad and the doc had both rushed to my sides and tried calming me down, gently stroking my arms until I relaxed back into the pillow. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed Mom having sunk into a chair against the wall, her face hidden in her hands while she cried, rocking her bent over upper body.

"What happened?" the doctor asked, his voice hard, cold. I knew it wasn't personal. He just wanted answers and I was the only one that could give them. But remembering was so hard…

"I don't know," I eventually replied, quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat still ached whenever I tried to speak. "I remember a big room, large really. There were high windows, some of them broken, others barred. It looked like an old factory, but I'm not sure. The ceiling was so high up, I could hardly see it. Then there was a… I don't know how to describe it. It was huge. A… sort of robot I think." I crunched my eyes shut at the slowly sharpening memory of red eyes glaring down at me with an intensity that burned my heart and soul. I thought I even whimpered in fear. Those eyes would haunt me for quite a while in my dreams.

"A robot? What sort of robot?" Dad asked sharply.

"I-I don't know. I've never seen anything like that before." I felt myself go cold and started shivering.

Warm hands came down on my arm, stroking it gently. "It's all right, honey. You're safe here with us. No one's going to harm you." I took a shuddering breath and willed myself to relax again. Opening my eyes, I met Dad's pensive gaze. When he noticed me looking at him, he smiled slightly. "I'm so glad you're with us now."

I relaxed further. "Me too, Dad, me too." Reaching out, I took Dad's hand in mine, and he squeezed it reassuringly in return.

"I shall let you rest for now," the doctor then said. "Try to sleep a bit. That should make you feel better quickly." I nodded while he left the room, but I knew once Mom, Dad and I were alone, Mom would cluck over me. And true enough, even before I heard the door shut, Mom was at my side cradling my head.

"Oh god, my darling, what did they do to you?" she asked through heavy sobbing. "We thought you were dead! We thought we lost you." She sniffled heart-wrenchingly and then started to hiccup.

Thankfully, Dad pulled Mom off me. "Linda, please, calm down. Chloe's with us, and she's alive."

"But they could have killed her!" she protested, more tears spilling from her eyes.

"I know," Dad said with a calmness he could only have gotten in service. He reached into his pocket and handed Mom a handkerchief. "But she's not. You're only freaking yourself out, straining your own health. So take a deep breath and relax, okay? Chloe's here, she's safe and she's not going to go anywhere anytime soon." It wasn't the words that did the magic, I was sure, but eventually, Mom's tears subsided and even the hiccups stopped. She was still pale and visibly shaken by the shock of her beloved daughter getting hurt, but the reassuring presence of Dad provided the feeling of safety she apparently hadn't felt in quite some time.

I tried to do as the doc had advised, getting rest, but I had the feeling that since they – whoever they were – had found me once, they would find me a second time. For now, though, I was safe. Relaxing, I quickly fell into a light but restful slumber.

…

The first day in hospital I spent in bed, most of the time sleeping. Either Mom or Dad would sit at my side when I woke up, giving me reassurance by just being here with me. The second day I was already trying to get up. The doctor checked me over thoroughly in the morning and found nothing that would hinder me in getting out of bed if I were so inclined. And I was. Lying down for several days had made me eager to walk around for a while. Besides, the nurses encouraged me by saying that exercise was the fastest way to recovery.

Sitting up felt easy enough, but when I put my feet onto the ground, I felt how shaky they were. I felt so weak. Would I even be able to walk on my own? Sliding slowly out of my bed and grasping at anything in reach to steady myself, I carefully put my weight on my feet. And they supported me. No buckling of my knees or falling down face first. I was happy. But upon trying the first step, I lost balance and sank onto the floor helplessly. The door to my room had been open and a nurse had watched me from the corridor, so when she saw me going down, she came running with enforcement. Together with a male nurse, she hauled me back up and in bed. I sank into sleep almost immediately, the short moment of physical strain enough to draw me off all energy my body had had stored.

The following day Dad visited me again (Mom had already gone back to work, but Dad was still around) and steadied me during my second attempt at walking. It went better this time; we got all the way to the door and back – even if it just took ten steps to reach the door from my bed. I felt just as drained as the day before afterwards though. But I was making progress, or so the doctor and nurses said.

On day four I woke after having slept as I hadn't in quite some time (and that even though the doc had taken me off the muscle relaxers helping me fall asleep just the day before). I felt as strong as a bear and wanted to jump up and around or run as fast as the wind. But Dad cautioned me when he felt my eagerness. "You might feel strong," he reasoned, "but it's just a malfunction of the human brain that causes this. You're still far away from being able to run, let alone jump. So let us take it one step at a time, literally." But the ten steps to the door of my room were exceptionally easy to overcome, so I talked Dad into continuing down the hallway. With every step I took, more energy surged through me, giving me balance and the confidence that I wouldn't fall onto my nose again. On the way back to my room, I could even shake off Dad and walk without him steadying me. I felt exhilarated. A look in Dad's face told me how astonished he was over that development.

From then on my recovery happened like a blur – even the doctors were surprised, sharing puzzled looks with each other. They even wanted to release me out of their care on the sixth day already. But Mom insisted on me staying under professional medical observation for a few more days. Normally, civilians would never be longer than necessary in a military hospital, but due to Dad being a physician with the Navy, I was allowed to stay as long as needed.

I also suspected that a few military men higher up wanted to question me at one point or another. Why else was I in one of their hospitals rather than a civilian one? But not once since that first awaking did anyone ask me any questions about what had happened. Not even Mom and Dad tried to pry information out of me – and come on, that just has to mean something! On the one hand I was grateful for being let in peace; on the other I felt this was just the quiet before the storm. Something bigger than what I'd been through would happen, I was a hundred percent sure of it, and I grew restless while waiting for it to come.

That was one of the reasons why I found myself wandering the long corridor on day nine, shortly before I was finally going to be claimed fully recovered and thus released (Dad had hinted at that when he visited me yesterday). I had been up and about for several days now and the walking exercises went well, but I couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was off. I could move just fine, my reflexes were as usual if not a bit better and I didn't feel any pain when putting pressure on my feet and legs. There were no weaknesses, no buckling, no falling down. But like with moving my fingers, walking felt… different.

While wandering the hallway – the window front on my left, door after door on my right – I checked my reflexes by jumping up and down a few times and even daring to run down the hallway (before the head nurse stopped me and then proceeded to a five-minute long scolding for making such a ruckus). None of these wilder exercises hurt. But I knew that the movements I made no longer felt natural to me. I asked a few of the nurses I met if they thought I walked oddly, but they all said no. Frowning, I had gone on. Whoever I had asked, to them every movement I made looked like normal – and I checked it myself in a floor-length mirror. But it still felt… off. I couldn't think of a description that would explain exactly what walking felt like now, no matter how long I tried coming up with one. And I could hardly tell my parents, could I? Mom would totally freak out and never let me out of her sight again, and Dad would… Well, I didn't know what he would do, but I envisioned myself being strapped onto a table in a lab and scientists experimenting on me, only that the scientists looked like huge robots. And if my parents would react like that, telling the doc and nurses treating me was out of the question more than ever.

Shaking my head and blinking a few times to chase the image away, I stopped and leaned my forehead against a window. A couple of birds flew by and I took the opportunity to look around. Dad had told me I was in the Malcolm Grow Medical Center, the hospital on the Joint Base Andrews Naval Air. The name didn't tell me anything, but apparently, it was the base Air Force One was stationed if not needed – apparently, we were still in the neighborhood of Washington D.C., so to speak. Taking in the surroundings, I saw smaller and bigger buildings as far as the eye could see, and in the distance there was a runway. In that exact moment, a plane that looked like it was military took off. What surprised me was the many trees and green spots in-between the buildings. I had always thought a military base was just barracks and lots of asphalt, but obviously, I had been wrong.

Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed a movement below me. I looked down at what seemed to be the backyard. There were a few red and white ambulance cars parked, as well as a big yellow Search and Rescue Hummer. A group of men stood next to it, talking and gesturing wildly. Two wore military uniforms, one was clad in more casual attire, and the fourth I recognized as Dr. Vess, the doctor treating me. The fifth man in the group worried me though: it was my father. What was he doing there and who were the other three men he was talking to? And whatever they were talking about, it seemed like a heated discussion. I had a sinking feeling it concerned me.

My train of thought was interrupted when the door closest to me on the other side of the floor opened and a boy my age with curly dark blonde hair appeared. I knew him from school. He looked up and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock. I frowned. Sure, I had never really been buddies with Marcus Donovan, but I believed that finding himself standing across from me in a military hospital didn't warrant him treating me like I was the hospital's very own poltergeist. But apparently, Marcus was thinking exactly that. He took a step back, and when I followed him curiously, he fully retreated back into his room. He threw the door shut, nearly knocking me over, but I caught it before I got the door into my face. When I then entered his room – an exact replica of my own – I left the door ajar to give him the feeling of not trapping him.

"Hi," I said amiably, but didn't get any further because he raised his arm and pointed something small and black in my direction. A pistol I noticed with dread. And he pointed it directly at my face. "What are you doing?" I asked, frightened.

"Don't speak to me, devil," Marcus hissed, his eyes wide and moving around wildly in frenzy. His outstretched hand, the one holding the pistol, shook slightly.

I slowly backed up until I felt the wall behind me. Taking a deep breath to calm down, I tried again. "Marcus," I said slowly and softly, "what are you doing? It's me, Chloe Roberts. We go to the same school, even are in the same year. We have math and chemistry together."

Marcus shook his head. "No. You're just trying to pull me on their side. You're an infiltrator. A spy." His shaking hand's movements became wilder and the pistol swayed dangerously, wandering from my face down to my heart, then even lower to my abdomen before pointing up at my face again.

I gulped but still managed to suppress the slowly rising fear. Losing my head now wouldn't do any good. "I am no spy or infiltrator, Marcus. I'm Chloe, just Chloe. We've known each other since primary school."

Then, from one moment to the next, there was a flicker in his eyes, like recognition. He blinked a few times, his face paling even more. The hand with the pistol slowly sank down to his side, the finger he had wrapped around the trigger loosening. But he still didn't let go of the weapon. Instead, he brought his other hand up, hiding his face in it. "Oh God, what was that? What is going on here?" he mumbled into his palm in a panicky voice.

Seconds ticked by silently while I stood frozen, afraid of Marcus raising his weapon again and pulling the trigger. My heart hurt seeing him like this and I realized I pitied him. Marcus might have been one of the boys at school that had bullied me now and then, but the frantic look he still had had in his eyes a moment ago was nothing I would ever wish to happen to my archenemy. I hated whoever had done this to him. Eventually, I took a cautious step toward Marcus, but he didn't seem to notice my advance. So I became braver and quickly walked over to where he stood. Only now did I notice the rucksack on the chair next to the bed. It was open, the clothes inside a mess. Either Marcus hadn't cared of properly folding up his shirts and trousers before packing them into the rucksack, or he had rummaged around to fish for the pistol.

Which reminded me he still held the weapon in his hand. Carefully, I reached out to take his hand, hoping to loosen his hold on the pistol to take it away from him before he could harm himself or anyone else. But as soon as my skin touched his, his head snapped up, the wild look and frantic gleam back in his eyes. I hurriedly took a step back, then a second one. Marcus raised his hand and due to us standing so close, the pistol's mouth came to lie above my chest, directly where my heart hammered away in fear. Over this short distance, Marcus would never miss were he to shoot right now.

He did shoot, but luck had it that he didn't hit me. Like in slow motion, I saw his finger pull down the trigger and the bullet shooting out of the weapon, aiming for my heart. A split second earlier, however, the door to the room flew open and a man lunged forward, knocking me over and thus pulling me down and out of harm's reach. The bullet barely whizzed over my head, flying through the door before it swung shut again and finally pulling a hole into the window opposite the door on the corridor. From the hallway, I heard glass splinter. The man – a soldier from the look of his uniform – that had pulled me down pushed me aside so that I lay kind of hidden from Marcus' view, the bed's edge in-between us. I could still see his head and raised hand though. The soldier, however, quickly stood up again and pulled out a weapon of his own, aiming for Marcus.

"Drop the pistol, now," he calmly ordered, his voice authoritative. It sounded like he didn't do that for the first time. Marcus lowered his hand a bit, but the soldier didn't relax. He was still on guard.

In the meantime, the door was opened once more, allowing another military man entrance. Upon seeing his comrade with the weapon drawn, he pulled out his own, but not before throwing a questioning glance in my direction.

My gaze, however, was fixed on the door where Dad and Dr. Vess appeared, accompanied by a man in casual attire. I now recognized the unknown men to be the ones I had seen discussing in the backyard a few moments ago. Or had it been hours? How much time had passed since I had stepped into Marcus' room?

Dad swiftly walked over and crouched down. "Are you okay, hon?" he asked quickly and quietly. "Are you unhurt?"

I nodded absent-mindedly, my eyes still fixed on the man in casual attire. His eyes were of a striking blue color and I wondered what it would feel like to be stared at by them. But for now, the man looked at Marcus only, ignoring me.

Remaining on the floor for another second, I then stood slowly up, with Dad's help. Finally tearing my eyes away from the stranger, I looked at Marcus again. He stood like frozen, the hand still cramped around his pistol, the finger dangerously close to the trigger. The two soldiers still hadn't relaxed, their weapons still pointing at my classmate. I followed Marcus' gaze and looked at the stranger with the blue eyes again.

Then, all of a sudden, the man moved, but he was too slow. Marcus lifted the hand with the weapon to his head, set the muzzle to his temple and immediately pulled the trigger. I stared in shock, then started screaming, nearly drowning out the stranger's "NO!"

…

I was sitting in my room, sunken into the chair by the window. I had curled myself up, my legs tugged away beneath me, my arms hugging my torso. I didn't cry, but I felt sorry – for Marcus, for myself, for the world as a whole. I still couldn't grasp why a boy like Marcus would commit suicide. He had been quite popular, with the teachers, with his peers, and especially with the girls. He had been a joker. And a damn good athlete. Many had already seen him make career with the military once he graduated.

But now he was dead, killed by a bullet he had shot through his head all by himself.

Why? Why would he do such a thing? What had made him kill himself rather than facing life and solving the problem?

There was a soft knock on the door and I sort of woke out of my stupor. Sitting slightly up, I mumbled a "Come in," but I didn't yet look in the direction of the door, instead continuing to stare out of the window. The sky was covered in thick gray rain clouds, dampening my mood. It was the perfect weather for a tragedy like Marcus' I found.

"I don't want to interrupt anything, but I would like to talk to you for a moment, if you allow," an unfamiliar voice said softly.

I tore my gaze away from the impending rain and turned toward the man. It was the stranger with the piercing blue eyes. But now the eyes were dim, saddened with grief. Had he known Marcus? Was he a relative? His uncle maybe?

Belatedly, I shrugged indifferently and the man took one of the chairs from the table, sitting down across from me. He didn't get too close, but close enough so we could talk easily.

"I was told you knew that boy," he began. "I'm sorry for your loss."

I didn't know whether to snort or simply nod. Yes, I had known him, but our relationship had been one of terrorizing if not ignorance. I shouldn't feel bad about Marcus being gone, but I still did. "Thanks, but he was just a classmate. Nothing more."

The man remained silent for a moment, like he pondered my answer, then he said, "But he was still your peer and death is never something nice to witness."

Agreeing, I mumbled, "No, it truly isn't." I tried not to remember the horrible moments following the bullet tearing through Marcus' head. The first time I had thrown up had been disgusting enough; my still aching throat was enough of a reminder. Besides, I was sure there were a few nightmares ahead of me anyway.

"I was wondering whether you know why he was driven to such an extreme," the man said, thankfully interrupting my grave thoughts.

Looking up, I meet his steady gaze, but couldn't stand looking into those eyes longer than a moment. Even dim, the blue was still striking. Eventually, I slowly shook my head. "No. I stood in the hallway when I… met him. He came out of his room and upon seeing me, went back inside."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. I followed him to find out exactly that. But…" I trailed off, unsure of how to explain the eerie situation I had been in. I slung my arms tighter around myself, intensifying the hug. The move was not lost on the stranger, but he didn't comment on it. "He looked like he'd seen a ghost," I continued in a whisper. "Like I'd been his living nightmare." A small voice in my head told me _Maybe you were…_ Crunching my eyes shut, I willed this thought away.

"Did he say anything to you before he tried to shoot you?"

Gulping down the remainder of the panic I had felt, I answered, "He didn't seem to recognize me. He said something of me being a spy, trying to pull him over to their side." Snapping my eyes back up to meet the strangers', I heatedly said, "But I don't even have an idea who 'they' are! I've no clue what happened to Marcus! Not even my own father will tell me what the hell is going on here!"

"It's okay, it's all right," the stranger soothed, leaning forward slightly, gently gesturing with his hands. He radiated calmness and I slowly relaxed. "No one accuses you of anything," he continued.

"Marcus did," I retorted and then choked on the impending tears. I felt myself reaching an emotional breakdown, and it swiftly came over me like a wave crashing down and drowning me. Tears welled up in my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I started to hiccup while I cried, letting out everything I had bottled up in the last week. Fear, relief, hurt and loss chased each other while I sat there in front of a stranger. But oddly, I felt at peace with myself, felt safe with the man sitting across from me. He didn't soothe me or said a word, but his presence alone was help enough. I doubted Mom and Dad would have managed that, even though I trusted them explicitly and loved them very much.

Eventually, the tears subsided and only irregular sniffles remained. I unwrapped myself from my self-hug, digging for a handkerchief to blow my nose. And once the breakdown was overcome, I felt better and relieved, a bit optimistic even. Maybe the future didn't look quite as dark as the rain clouds outside.

"Feeling better?" the man asked when I dared looking at him again.

"Yes." I nodded. "Thank you."

He smiled. "You're welcome – but I didn't do anything."

Blushing slightly, knowing the following words would sound totally stupid, I objected, "You were here. That helped."

He looked at me for a short moment, like he mulled over my words, his face an emotionless mask. But then he smiled widely. "Good to know." I sent him a small smile myself. "Can I assume we can talk some more now, then?" he asked slowly after another heartbeat.

Ducking my head, blushing again in embarrassment, I nodded. "Sorry."

He shook his head, at the same time leaning forward and reaching out to take my hand. It was the first time he made physical contact with me and that surprised me. His hand's touch was gentle and soft, as were the accompanying words. "Don't be. If you always only bottle up what you feel inside without letting it out, then you will eventually do yourself no favor." He smiled reassuringly and then leaned back again.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

"If you don't mind, I would like to ask a few questions about what happened before you were brought here," he slowly said, bringing my focus back to the matter at hand.

Taking a deep breath, brazing myself against the horrible visions I was sure I was going to have again, I nodded in consent. "But only on one condition."

Though blinking in surprise, the man nodded. "Whatever I can do, I will."

"You haven't yet told me your name," I blurted out and the man chuckled in visible relief.

"I can answer you that one," he said, chuckling once again. "I'm Ron Hatchett."

I nodded pensively. I didn't recognize the name, but thought I'd remember it for the rest of my life. The man had something that drew me toward him – not like a moth to light or a thirsty man to water. It wasn't physical attraction either. But there was a sort of familiarity with Ron Hatchett that I couldn't pinpoint. Deciding to mull that over later, I probed, "Okay, so what about your questions?"

* * *

><p>Slowly getting interesting? I sure hope it does! Thanks for reading so far. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter. Thanks.<p> 


	3. Paradise Lost

Many thanks to Eowyn for reviewing and everyone who alerted/favorited the story! Now enjoy the second chapter. :)

* * *

><p>– chapter two –<p>

**Paradise Lost**

Eleven weeks had passed since the day my world had gone to hell, and I found myself in my room, packing my belongings. Grabbing a book off the pile on my bed, I halted, wistfully staring at the cover; Grandma had given it to me when visiting me in the hospital. The book was about children stories and it had been Grandpa's favorite. "He'd read it over and over again, that's why it's so worn out," she had explained with an embarrassed smile, "but it never lost its fascination with him."

"I know, Grandma. I remember him reading from it to me when I was little." I had smiled at Grandma like I smiled now while reliving the memory. With a small sigh, I put it in the box and proceeded to the next book when there was a knock on the door.

It was Dad. "Can I come in?"

I shrugged, at the same time gesturing for him to enter. "The door's already open, so sure."

He grinned boyishly, reminding me why I loved him so much. "Well, after last time's accident where I barged in on you getting redressed, I wouldn't want to risk another shoe thrown in my direction."

Blushing in embarrassment on that incident, I quickly turned back to my box. "I did say sorry," I mumbled while stowing three more books.

Dad laughed and gave me a quick hug. "I know, sweetheart." Letting go again, he gestured to the various boxes already staked against the wall. "Which ones are done?"

"This one" – I gestured to the carton sitting on the bed – "and the one over there by the window are the last. It's only small stuff left now."

He nodded. "Trunk's packed?"

"Mhmmm."

"Great. I'll start carrying them down then. The truck's going to be here any moment." He made to grab one of the larger boxes, but I stopped him.

"Hey, Dad, before you go, tell me, why are we moving again?"

After giving me a long, pensive look, he sighed and sat down on my bed, patting the place next to him. I did as asked, poised to hear his explanation. So far, I'd only gotten vague answers that never really satisfied any of my many questions. "Well, there are a few people who believe that what happened nearly three months ago wasn't just coincidence. They think there's more to it and they want to find out what."

I frowned. "You mean people like the soldiers that interrogated me after Marcus'…" I trailed off, not wanting to dredge the horrific memories up again. I hadn't had any nightmares about that in the last week and intended to keep it that way.

"Colonel Lennox and Lieutenant Epps didn't interrogate you. They were simply asking some questions."

"It sure felt like an interrogation," I mumbled, remembering the cool atmosphere in the room when the soldiers had fired their questions at me. When Dad didn't comment on that, I continued, "So what does that have to do with us moving to a Godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere?"

Dad chuckled. "It's the Indian Ocean, not the middle of nowhere. That would be Antarctica," he joked. Turning serious again, he continued, "Let's just say the inci— _both_ incidences have gone quite high up and are not taken lightly. It's for the better moving there than staying here."

I knew he meant the still unexplained horror after the school had been attacked, as well as Marcus' suicide. I had tried to press Dad for more information, on the former especially, but the only answer I had received on that had always been 'Classified.' There were times I hated that he was with the Navy. "Better for whom?" I demanded.

"Better for you."

I huffed. "But my school is here and… and what about my friends?"

"Darling, we've talked this through already. There's a school in Diego Garcia to go to, and what friends are you talking about? I don't want to be blunt, but so far, I had the impression you were more of a lone wolf, Chloe." I bit my lip, having been caught in the lie. Besides, he was pulling his officer mode and I hated being berated like a small child, he knew that. In his defense, he caught my grimace, so his expression softened. He hugged me tightly. "You'll be able to make friends in Diego Garcia, darling."

I sighed; yes, we had talked about that before and the result would always be the same. Steering into another direction, I quietly asked, "Will grandma come with us?" I knew the answer as well, as this discussion has also already been led several times in the last week alone, but I still clung to the hope.

Dad kissed my forehead and then stood. "I'm afraid she isn't. But we'll visit her at least once a year, I promise." When I didn't reply for quite some time, he took my chin and gently made me look up at him. "Okay?"

Forcing myself to smile, I said, "Okay," feeling just how wrong the mimic felt.

…

The drive toward the airport led past my old school. I hadn't yet dared going back to the place that held so many horrible memories. I had been asked – explicitly – to stay away anyway. The two soldiers had been quite adamant about this prohibition, however nice they had phrased it.

So I didn't have any clue how bad my former school looked as I had avoided anything that would remind me of the horrors of that one Tuesday. And it looked _really _bad. Only fractions of the formerly three story tall walls still stood. It gave the impression of a giant having pulled out huge chunks to being able to reach inside. Every single window on the side overlooking the street and parking lot was shattered, and pieces of metal lay scattered around the site – which by itself looked like a meteor shower had taken place. Craters of different sizes plastered the area and chunks of asphalt rose in smaller and bigger hills. The few small trees that had lined the entrance to the school ground were without exception ripped out or knocked over.

In short: the school grounds looked like war had taken place. The building was only a ruin. How anybody could have gotten out of there was a mystery to me – unless no one had made it out alive. I felt my eyes dampen with tears while trying to imagine who had died that day.

Snapping my head back to the front seats, willing the tears away, I noticed Dad watching me in the rearview mirror. From his expression, he must have done so for a while. But shouldn't he rather look to the front? Then I realized we weren't moving, instead parking on the other side of the street.

Gulping down the bitter taste on my tongue, I asked, "Were there any… survivors or am I the only one?"

His expression turned sad. "The casualties amount to thirty," he replied softly. "There were about a hundred of severely injured people, another fifty to sixty only slightly hurt. Very few made it out unscathed." He nodded toward the building. "The entire second floor has been destroyed beyond recognition; the roof is nearly entirely gone. The first floor mainly suffered from walls having collapsed or the ceiling having come down. The ground floor and base have been spared for the most part, but lots of dust has fallen from above."

I shrunk back into my seat, feeling very lonely all of a sudden. I didn't have had many friends, but I now wondered whether those that had been nice to me on occasion were among the dead or still alive. I didn't dare ask Dad though. I was, however, glad that my school had been secluded and outside the town, so that no residents had been pulled into this shit.

As if she sensed my trepidation, Mom softly added, "We kept the newspapers from after the incident and bought several more – in case you want to read them one day. It's really up to you; we're not forcing the pictures and stories onto you if you are not ready yet."

"Thanks," I mumbled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad sending me a long glance, but as I didn't react, he started the rented car again (he had sold our own one a week ago) and we continued the journey.

When we were about to drive onto the highway, I asked, "Were others… taken like me?" I wasn't sure if I really had been kidnapped, but according to my chaotic memories and from the questions the soldiers had asked me I thought I had been.

I caught Dad's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Yes."

"Was Marcus… was he among them?"

Dad sighed. "Yes."

Closing my eyes, I asked "And how many others? Are they still alive?"

He didn't respond for a moment, concentrating on the traffic, then he said, "That falls under classified information. I'm sorry."

I didn't dig deeper after that. I wasn't even sure what it would have helped were I to know the answer to these two questions. Glancing back at my home town of thirteen years while Dad sped down the motorway, I was saying goodbye to my past anyway.

…

It was a very long flight and I slept most of the time. At first I had entertained myself with a movie, but that has quickly gotten boring. Watching the clouds was no valuable alternative either, so I'd made myself as comfortable as possible and gone to sleep. Dad shook me awake again several hours later, when we were about to land on the island. Thus I could get a first glimpse of our new home.

Seeing the soft azure color of the water, the long empty beaches and exotic palm trees raised my excitement. The place looked like paradise. But at the same time I dreaded the new environment. How would my new school be? What would living on a tropical island be like? And why were both Mom _and_ Dad stationed here, in the middle of nowhere, when there were loads of jobs with the Navy and Army stateside?

The plane gently touched the runway and slowed down before veering to the right and toward the airport building. It was a small one only, but I hadn't expected anything as big as any international airport. Who would travel to such a small piece of land in the middle of an ocean anyway?

"Okay, don't forget to grab all your stuff," Mom reminded me when the plane had fully halted and the passengers started to get off. "Your rucksack, your music player…"

"Mom, I know," I retorted irritably. I was in a cranky mood and lashed out at anybody, even though I knew it wasn't their fault. _Well, with our entire family moving out of civilization and into the jungle, it _was_ my parents' fault_, I found. The thought let me feel less bad about being so mean to them. But they were only doing their jobs. And I prided myself in being old enough to know better than to behave like a child throwing a tantrum. Thankfully, Mom had given up responding to my outbursts, so I could discreetly drop the matter.

We received our baggage quickly and followed the other passengers to the exit. A bus idled in front of it, waiting for passengers not having someone pick them up. A few got aboard, but before Dad could follow them, someone hollered, "Lieutenant James Roberts?" Dad turned and saw a man waving while walking up to them. Once he arrived at our sides, he saluted. "Sergeant Bradley Johnston, at your service, sir."

Dad returned the salute. "At ease, Sergeant."

"Thank you, sir." He turned toward Mom and me. "Then you must be Private Linda Roberts and Chloe Roberts." We both nodded and shook hands with him. Turning back to Dad, Sergeant Johnston said, "Colonel Lennox sent me to fetch you. You shouldn't travel with the bus." He gave the vehicle a doubting glance.

"It wouldn't have bothered us," Dad returned but nonetheless followed Sergeant Johnston when he led us to his car.

So far I had paid more attention to the scenery around us, but when seeing the car Sergeant Johnston was heading to, I just _had_ to let out an appreciating whistle. Being a girl, I didn't know much about cars, but even I saw that the black pick-up was a superb vehicle. And it was huge! It looked like it would make for a good ride off-road, what with its wheels being so large, leaving quite some space between the underside and the ground.

Johnston threw me an amused grin. "You like him?" he asked while taking my baggage and stowing it in the bed of the pick-up.

"Him?" I asked, wondering why he would bother with gender when it was just a car. I walked around the pick-up, running a finger along the grille once I had completed the circle; I didn't dare touch the black hood, though, afraid of leaving marks on the shiny and clearly newly waxed metal. "It's… cool," I said slowly. "The father of a classmate used to have a pick-up, but it's never been this huge."

"Wait till you hear the engine roar," Sergeant Johnston promised with a huge grin. He finished loading the remaining luggage and then opened the doors. "Everyone climb aboard, please. Time to drive home."

I eagerly got in on the back seat with Mom. Dad was riding shotgun.

"Fasten your seatbelt, honey," Mom murmured, already clicking hers into place.

I rolled my eyes at her. "We're on an island, Mom, not in New York or D.C. What could possibly happen here?" Nonetheless, I strapped myself in.

"Well, even here there're chaotic drivers," Sergeant Johnston said while putting in the gear and moving out of the parking lot. "I agree it's not as bad as in metropolitan areas, but you never know. And occasionally, we do have drunk teenagers sitting behind the wheel, especially after end of semester parties."

Dad nodded. "It seems idiocy is universal."

"Agreed," Sergeant Johnston solemnly stated.

The rest of the short drive was passed in amiable conversation about the local whether, shopping possibilities, hobby and entertainment facilities and other stuff suitable for small talk. I remained silent for the most time, letting the adults talk among themselves. I preferred listening anyway. And I was otherwise occupied. As the road went alongside the coastal line, I had a good view on the long white beaches I had already seen from the plane. Here and there were a few people snorkeling or swimming, and we only met one car heading south. So far, I liked what I saw, but as soon as the first houses came into view, my face fell. This was the town where we would live now? On the drive through the city center, I realized for the first time that I indeed had left civilization behind. It wasn't the bush – not completely – but it wasn't far off either. I heaved a heavy sigh.

Sergeant Johnston didn't drive through the entire settlement – as I dubbed it; in my opinion, this place didn't even warrant the title 'town' – before reaching our final destination. Mom was instantly walking up to our new home, intent on inspecting every last corner. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Sergeant Johnston, Dad followed Mom quickly with some luggage, leaving me to handle the rest.

"It may look like nothing," Sergeant Johnston offered quietly when I finally, much slower and no longer eagerly, climbed out of the pick-up. "But once you've been here for a while, you'll be glad to come back here from a visit stateside where chaos rules the metropolitans." The look on his face told me he had seen my disappointment in the rearview mirror.

Turning around myself to give my new home a good look, I shrugged. "Maybe," I grudgingly allowed, "but maybe the loneliness of this place has killed me long before I head back stateside." I took the rucksack Sergeant Johnston offered me from the bed of the pick-up. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And I don't think you will. There's… more to this island than meets the eye." He winked.

Frowning in confusion, I decided to follow my parents. Sergeant Johnston seemed nice, but there was something… weird about him. So bidding him a hasty goodbye, I practically ran into the house.

It was a simple two story building. The ground floor hosted the living room, kitchen and a small bathroom; upstairs there were two bedrooms and a marginally larger bathroom. I chose the smaller of the bedrooms, knowing Mom and Dad would be glad to have some private space for themselves, now that they were going to actually live together for more than just two weeks of vacation when Dad returned home from wherever he was stationed. But my new bedroom had the better view. Through the palm trees, I could actually see the beach, and when opening the window, I could also hear the waves softly rolling onto the sandy shore. Smiling at the idyll, I sat down the rucksack on the bed and then went downstairs again where Mom and Dad were discussing the next steps.

"All right, I'll drive down to the store the Sergeant has mentioned," Dad said just when I entered the kitchen.

I frowned. "Drive? With what? Didn't the Sergeant leave again? I thought I heard his car drive away…" Craning my neck, I glanced out of the kitchen window. Sure enough, the black pick-up and Sergeant Johnston were gone.

"He did, but there's a car parked next to the house." Dad showed me the keys. "It's old, but Johnston said it's still working. If it breaks, I should just let him know and he'll take a look at it."

Raising my eyebrows in doubt, I queried, sort of joking, "Is he a mechanic? Does he run the local garage?"

Dad's expression was serious when he answered, "Not that I'm aware of there actually being a garage in town. But yes, he's a mechanic on the base. We've driven past it…"

"I know, Dad," I started, but Mom cut me off.

"And I've heard he's good at his work," she added. "He lives just across the street. He'll be our neighbor."

"So, honey, wanna come with me shopping or you gonna help your mom unpack?" Dad inquired.

I grimaced. Neither activity sounded overly appealing, but I guessed shopping with Dad was the lesser of two evils. Besides, this way, I would get a better look of my new home. I needed to know the way to school as well, coming to think of it. "I'll go with you." Also, I would finally be able to spend some time alone with Dad which had been rare in the last years, restricted only to the occasional vacation he had received.

The store was just down the road. If I needed something and no one was available to drive me, I could just walk the few blocks or take the bike we kept and brought along. "Far" didn't seem to be a word appropriate for Diego Garcia anyway. Everything was – more or less – in walking distance. The same applied to my new school which was close to the store, across of what appeared to be the main street. It was a small building, not even a quarter the size my former school had been. I had no idea yet how many students there were as it was currently semester holidays, with many families being gone for vacation to the continent. And the few people I had seen were either older or much younger than me. The outlook for peers was rather slim. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be bullied anymore.

Once back at the house, Dad and I went to help Mom getting furnished up and settled in. The stuff we had kept had been sent ahead by carrier plane, the rest of the furniture had been sold, like our car. And some basic furniture like beds and a built-in kitchenette had already been in the house we moved in. Still, there were plenty of boxes that were stacked on the porch, plenty of stuff waiting to be unpacked. It would take us a couple of days until we could really call this place home, and the outlook of me being responsible for that task wasn't something I looked forward to. But both Mom and Dad would start with their new work tomorrow, leaving me, their daughter, to do the unpacking.

"I doubt there'll be much to do right at the beginning," Dad said confidently while he and I unpacked a box full of bed linen, storing it away in the closet we had set up half an hour earlier. "At least for me – unless there's going to happen an emergency. So I'll try to be home as early as possible to help."

I didn't comment that, but grumbled under my breath, my words thankfully too low for Dad to hear.

…

When going to bed, I had lain awake for about an hour before finally falling into a restless slumber. Nightmares had made me sit up now and then, and the heat wasn't helping with immediately going back to sleep either. So when I eventually got up the next morning, I felt worn out rather than refreshed and full of energy. Mom and Dad were already gone; a small note on the kitchen table was all there was left.

Taking my time with a cereal breakfast, I wandered through the house while eating, trying to physically and mentally arrive in my new home. Usually it only took me one night to get used to a new place, but not here. Through the open windows I heard the soft waves on the shore, listened to the tropical birds I had yet to see and tried to _feel_ like I'd arrived in paradise. But the notion of being where I belonged didn't come. I totally felt out of place and wished I could go back, knowing it was no option and that my parents would never let me leave on my own. With a sigh, the now empty bowl in my lap, I sank onto the couch, only to jump to my feet again when there was a knock on the door.

Placing the bowl on the kitchen counter, I slowly walked into the small hallway, wondering what to do if it was a burglar. I mentally scolded myself the very next second though. A burglar wouldn't bother with knocking. Right on cue, there was another knock, then a man calling out, "Chloe? It's me, Bradley Johnston. I was wondering if you wanted my help with unpacking."

Taking a very deep breath of relief, I allowed the seconds to tick by before stepping up to the door. I would have to bring up the thought about a stranger coming to kidnap me with Mom and Dad later that night. I knew it was a weird idea, but it would be good to know what to do, just in case. Why anyone would try to kidnap me, here, on this small island, made absolutely no sense and sounded totally nuts, but how had Sergeant Johnston put it? Even here, on Diego Garcia, you never knew what could happen. Someone could still decide to kidnap me and then try to run and hide. The police – was there even something like that on this island? – would probably find them faster than they could run, but one could never be careful enough.

Shaking off the silly ideas, I opened the door and managed a small smile. "Hi," I said slowly.

"Good morning, Chloe," Sergeant Johnston greeted politely with a warm smile. "I spoke to your dad and he thought that maybe you'd appreciate a helping hand while he's not here."

I frowned; could I let a stranger inside the house? Yes, he picked us up from the airport, but I didn't know him enough yet to fully trust him. Stalling while trying to make a decision, I said, "I do, but… don't you have to go to work yourself?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "My shift doesn't start until fourteen hundred. And I have nothing else to do this morning. So…" He shrugged again. "What say you?"

"You're giving me a choice?" I asked, taken aback. Trying to give him an inconspicuous look over, I found that he didn't look like he intended to kidnap me. He seemed nice enough, but I still couldn't shake off the feeling he was sort of… weird at times. But I was certain it had nothing to do with him trying to do me harm. I couldn't find anything suspicious that screamed 'dangerous' to me.

"Of course," he said. "Everyone should have a free choice; it's a human right. If you don't want me to help you, just say so and I'll be gone." He vaguely gestured to the house across the street which I believed was his if Mom had been right about him being our immediate neighbor. With my eyes I followed the direction he pointed at, but couldn't see the black pick-up in the driveway. There was only a green and white car parked.

Snapping my eyes back up at him, I made a decision and slowly said, "But you said you have nothing else to do…"

He grinned. "Touché." Turning serious once more, he added, "But really, if you don't want me to help, just say it. I won't take it personal." He turned like he wanted to leave.

"No!" I called, stopping him. When he looked at me, I shook my head and smiled slightly. "I mean, I can always use some help. I doubt that even with two more weeks rather than one until school starts again I'll be able to unpack everything on my own. So…" I stepped aside, bidding him in.

Rubbing his hands in enthusiasm, Sergeant Johnston entered the small hall. "All right, then. Where do we begin?"

…

Sergeant Johnston stayed until shortly after noon. He was a great help with carrying the boxes inside, especially as some of the bigger ones were extremely heavy. I doubted I would have been able to do anything of what we got unpacked on my own in twice the time. And whenever Sergeant Johnston wasn't grunting while carrying or moving heavy furniture, he and I amiably discussed everything and anything.

"I'm from the United Kingdom," he had offered while checking that the cupboard was stable and tightly attached to the wall. "I moved here when there was a lookout for a new position."

Handing him a shelf and the corresponding screws, I asked in confusion, "Isn't the base run by the US Army? Dad said something like that…"

He chuckled while attaching the screws. "Yes, but the personnel aren't just cowboys and Yankees. There're several British officers and soldiers too. After all, someone has to represent the Queen."

I laughed. "Guess so." Handing him a second shelf, I continued, "So how does it feel like to work with cowboys and Yankees? As a nobleman from the British isles?"

"Nobleman my aft," Sergeant Johnston said, laughing. "I've been a mere civilian before joining the army. But working with the Americans is all right. We're a good team and my colleagues are all very nice. You'll probably meet them earlier than later." Getting down from the ladder, he admired the handiwork. "There you go. Now we can store the dinnerware."

We continued putting away dishes and kitchenware for another half hour before taking a small break on the front porch. Mom had made ice in the freezer last night, and I served Sergeant Johnston a cooled root beer.

"You said you moved her on the outlook of a job. Didn't you yet have it when arriving on Diego Garcia?" I asked curiously while sipping on my lemonade. Even though I still thought my new neighbor to be on the weirder side of life, I kind of liked him. So far he had been really nice to me and was a true British gentleman, doing the hard work and insisting on me only assisting him when it should have been the other way around.

"I had to take several tests before being admitted to the team," he confessed, interrupting my train of thought. "The final test was to be taken on the base, and after I made the cut with the previous exams, they flew me in."

"So you went all the way from Europe not knowing whether or not they'd take you?"

"Yep."

I gave an appreciative whistle while raising my eyebrows. "I probably wouldn't have done it."

"Up until then I thought I wouldn't either, but the position they were offering sounded extremely interesting, and though the exams were some of the hardest I had ever to take, the outlook of the work to come had me excited."

"And now you're a simple mechanic," I stated. "What tests does one have to do to work as a simple mechanic?"

Sergeant Johnston chuckled. "It's not as simple as it may sound," he said mysteriously. "It may look like a simple mechanic's job, but it's really much more."

I raised my eyebrows once again. "There's broken planes to fix maybe," I allowed. "But that's hardly interesting."

He winked. "Oh, believe me, there is far more interesting… stuff that needs to be repaired now and then."

"Duh," I made and Sergeant Johnston chuckled again. "Like yesterday, you're talking in riddles, but save your breath. I suppose it's all very classified and I can't know cause I'm just a kid and civilian on top of that."

"Something like that, yes," he admitted, no longer in joking tones. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "No need. It's not like I'm not used to conversations like that. Mom and Dad can hardly tell me details of their work. I suppose everyone signed their life away in non-disclosure agreements."

"Have you been watching sci-fi series?" Sergeant Johnston asked with an amused expression.

Blushing and trying to hide it behind my glass, I mumbled, "How did you know?"

There was a sparkle in his eyes. "I didn't. It was just a lucky guess." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Ugh." I face-palmed. "An enemy will have it easy with me. I'm an idiot handing out information like that."

"No, you aren't." Changing to topic, probably to spare me more embarrassing moments, Sergeant Johnston offered, "Shall we continue?"

I nodded gratefully and we went back inside.

When Sergeant Johnston said his goodbye another hour later, I queried, "The pick-up from yesterday, I don't see it in your drive way."

He followed my gaze across the street toward the white and green car and then smiled. "It's not mine, but Colonel Lennox's – sort of. He… lent it to me." After a short break, he nodded with his chin in the direction of his house and added, "You know, my car doesn't have that much space in the boot and I didn't know how much luggage you'd have on you."

"Oh, okay. Well… thanks for the help, Sergeant." I nodded my thanks to him.

He shook my hand goodbye. "Just call me Johnston. Everyone else does. And anytime." Then, with another wink, he was walking away. I watched him until he had vanished inside his own house before I went back to work.

…

Dad came home an hour later, keeping to his promise. But instead of unpacking, he took me to a walk along the beach. "We need some quality time in-between all the work," he had said when I gave him an astonished look. Dad was one of the most organized people I knew, and a home looking like a storm had run through usually drove him nuts. Therefore, whenever I had to tidy up my room, it was because _Dad_ was getting a fit, not Mom.

Once at the beach, I slipped out of my flip flops and walked barefoot through the sand. Gentle waves lapped at my feet, but the warm water was nice to feel. Palm trees bordered the beach, leaving the area sort of secluded to prying eyes. I felt like I was on vacation rather than having moved here. The location provided plenty of holiday spirit so far.

"Do you see the bush over there?" Dad prompted after a while of peaceful silence.

Looking up, I followed his pointing hand. There, not too far ahead, were smaller trees mixed among tall ones, palm trees mixed with other trees I couldn't yet name. The sight reminded me of the jungle I had feared I'd see all over the island. I nodded.

"Wanna check it out?" Dad asked. I shrugged, and together, we set out to discover the looming 'jungle.'

It wasn't really a jungle, just a hedge-like aggregation around what looked like a clearing. There were a few stone fragments, partly overgrown by moss-like and other plants. A picnic area complete with seats and roof looked out over the beautiful beach, but I was shocked to see a huge gun stand right next to it. A sign read that this was not the only cannon, but that there were five more.

"Not so much of a paradise," I mumbled after having read through the text.

"Paradise with a military base?" Dad asked surprised.

I shrugged. "This place looks like paradise. I mean, with all the white sand, the long beaches, the palm trees, the quiet… This just has to be paradise. If it's not here, where else?"

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "One would certainly think so. And who knows, maybe it is paradise for some of the people living here."

"Yeah, maybe," I allowed slowly. Dad didn't hear me anymore though, having walked to curiously inspect the cannon from close up. But I remembered what I had read up on Diego Garcia before moving here. Apparently, before the base was founded, the indigenous people had been removed and resettled on the Maldives or Mauritius to leave this island uninhabited. These people had to move to make room for men coming here bringing war. What paradise could that be when the home of generations was lost?

And suddenly, I felt like I'd arrived where I belonged. This place truly was nice, paradise maybe to outsiders never having seen anything more beautiful. But I felt as detached from life as never before, feeling like the indigenous must have felt when they were resettled because war has been brought to their home. Whatever had let my school explode and whatever I had gone through in that old factory, to me the move to Diego Garcia felt like I finally was where I should be.

War had driven me away from my home too.

Nonetheless, I had found my lost paradise.

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><p>The character of Sergeant Bradley Johnston was created by the Botosphere; I'm only borrowing him with the three ladies' consent. If you want to learn more about the sergeant, I recommend checking out his story "Introductions: Bradley Johnston" on the Botosphere's author page on www(dot)fanfiction(dot)netu/2096745/Botosphere.


	4. Same Old Song

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the great feedback, everyone! Whenever I receive note that the story has been set to alert or favorite, it makes me happy. Reviews make my day. Therefore, special thanks to kathy3meme, Botosphere, GavinDarklighter, kellyviolinthebest, Anodythe, DieselArt and Nurisiliel for taking the time to review. I'm glad you all enjoyed the story so far. :) And here we go with chapter three already. Have fun reading!

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><p>– chapter three –<p>

**Same Old Song**

The final week of summer went by like a blur. Most of the time I was busy unpacking and at the same time mentally preparing myself for school while Mom and Dad were at work. Thankfully, Johnston helped out whenever he could make himself available. And slowly, I warmed up to the man and started to feel at home.

Gradually, Dad's working hours grew longer until on Thursday, he started shift work. He left in the middle of the night for the morning shift, but he was back home early in the afternoon. However, he would always call it an early night. Getting up at three-thirty in the morning to start work at five didn't allow for long family get-togethers.

Mom's working times were marginally saner. She would at one point have shift work as well, but until then, she left the house around the same time I would have to when school started the next week. When I asked how she was getting to work with Dad taking the car, Mom shrugged and said, "With the bus of course." Only that a functioning transportation system was the last I had expected on an island like Diego Garcia.

Friday turned to a close and the last box was unpacked. Finally, everything was at its designated place and the house looked like someone actually lived in it. When Mom came home around six, she placed shopping bags on the kitchen table. "Can you help me with making dinner, hon?" she asked.

I went into the kitchen to do as asked. "What's all this for?" I inquired when seeing the content of the bags.

Mom smiled. "I invited a couple of colleagues over for a barbeque. I think it would be nice to get to know them in a more private environment."

I frowned; I knew what was expected of me when Mom hosted a work-related dinner. "Couldn't you have told me something a bit earlier?" I complained. "I look like a mess." I pointed to my hair that I had roughly bound together to an untidy knot as well as my dirty shirt and pants. Working in the tropical heat of Diego Garcia was bound to make one sweat.

"There's still plenty of time for you to shower and redress. Now, where did you put the pans?"

…

Around seven, an electric blue car drove up and three people got out. One I recognized; it was Lieutenant Epps who had been one of the two soldiers questioning me after Marcus' suicide. From where I watched them from the living room window, I saw Lieutenant Epps help a woman get out. _She's probably his wife_, I mused. The third person, a man, was someone I hadn't yet met. He looked quite young, barely past the age of twenty-five, I thought.

Dad opened the door. "Welcome to our home. Come on in."

"Thanks, Roberts," Lieutenant Epps said amiably.

"Nice to meet you, sir," his wife said, shaking hands.

"My pleasure, ma'am."

I moved from the living room window to the door. The Epps' wore casual attire and looked like they belonged here, but the stranger appeared to be a bit uncertain. I looked at him more closely, and with a start I realized he had the same striking blue eyes as Ron Hatchett had had. Were the two related? If so, did that mean Mr. Hatchett was here on this island as well?

My thoughts were interrupted when Dad said, "And that's our daughter, Chloe. Chloe, these are Theresa Epps and Joel Tapp, nickname Jolt. You already know Lieutenant Robert Epps."

"Hello," I mumbled, shaking hands with the Epps'. My eyes quickly went back to Joel Tapp where he still stood a bit uncomfortable next to the door.

Mrs. Epps followed my gaze and smiled. "Don't be shy, Jolt. She won't bite. Come on."

He smiled slightly, laughter at his eyes at her attempt of humor, but he shook off the nervousness and then walked forward, shaking hands with me too. His handshake was firm but not too strong to crush my fingers. "Nice to meet ya," he said quietly, his accent slightly off. It sounded American, but there was something refined that I couldn't place.

"Johnston and Jack should join us any moment," Lieutenant Epps said, while, guided by Dad, he walked out to the back porch where the table and seats were set out. "They just had to finish up before they could leave, but Johnston said it shouldn't take them more than another ten."

"So, what do you want to drink?" Mom asked. "We have root beer, normal beer, lemonade, coke… I can also always make tea if you like, or coffee."

"I'll take a beer," Lieutenant Epps requested. Looking to his wife and Mr. Tapp, he asked, "You take water, like usual?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll go fetch it," I offered and hurried into the kitchen.

With my arms loaded with the drinks, I made to go back outside, but the doorway was blocked by Joel Tapp watching me intently. There was no malice in his eyes, but the striking blue slightly unnerved me, like it had back when I had spoken with Ron Hatchett.

"Can I help you? Do you want anything else?" I asked, if only to get a reaction from him.

He ducked his head a little, looking sheepish. "Sorry for surprising you like that. I was just…" He trailed off, shrugging. He didn't continue, even when I raised my eyebrows in expectation.

"All right," I slowly said, ambling toward the door again. In a pinch, I would have to squeeze past him.

"I can see what Johnston meant," Joel Tapp suddenly said, quite off-handedly.

I stopped again and frowned at him. "What did he mean?" I asked curiously. This young man was confusing me more and more.

"That you're a nice girl," the voice of Johnston said suddenly.

I whirled around to see the mechanic stand outside, looking into the kitchen through the open window and waving. Another man with Chinese features stood next to him, giving me a curious look. He had the same eyes like Joel Tapp which was kind of odd; I had so far believed all Chinese had dark eyes.

Before I could continue the thought of whether or not all people on Diego Garcia sported striking blue eyes now, no matter their ethical origins, Johnston said, "Knock knock. I heard voices and thought I'll look rather than bother with ringing your yet non-existent bell." He winked, grinning.

I snorted. "You know your way around. We're on the back porch."

Johnston nodded his head and then vanished to walk around the house, the stranger following him.

When I turned back to go outside, Joel Tapp had vanished as well, but I didn't see him on the porch with my parents and our guests either. He was gone, like… literally swallowed by earth. Shrugging it off, I handed the beer and water to the Epps' while Dad greeted the newcomers before introducing me to Johnston's friend, a sort of colleague of the mechanic. Dad nearly twisted his tongue trying to pronounce the name correctly and had to give up, admitting defeat.

Johnston chuckled while the man gave the right pronunciation. "It's Yingjie Ling-Tsan," he said solemnly with pride before adding, "but you may call me Jack to simplify matters." He grinned boyishly and I giggled.

Mom then rushed in and out of the kitchen, bringing the food, while the men discussed sports. Mrs. Epps was talking to me, or at least tried to, but I wasn't really into the conversation, at least mentally. I still wondered where Joel Tapp had vanished to. But my worry proved unnecessary as he reappeared a second later, a salad bowl in his hands, followed by Mom. He looked a lot more relaxed and easy-going than before, even teasing Yin— Jack a bit.

Shoving the thought away, I started eating as soon as everyone had their plates full, throwing myself into conversation with Mrs. Epps.

…

At the weekend, late on Sunday afternoon, I experienced my first tropical storm. The wind had picked up and from one second to the next, like someone had thrown them over, buckets of rain came down. I sat on the back porch when the rain started, and couldn't see very far anymore. Thankfully, the rain and wind brought some fresh air, but the heat that needed to be washed out of the air first resulted in a light fog wavering up. It vanished again quickly, but still hindered the sight quite a lot.

The rain poured down for several hours and was still going strong when I went to bed. I was growing nervous of what school would be like. Would my new classmates accept or reject me? What were the teachers like? What about the classes? Hundreds of questions and even more worries ran through my mind, but oddly, they lulled me to sleep.

The next morning, the rain was over, but the ground was still wet, puddles proving evidence of the storm of the previous night. I was silent for the most time, especially during the drive to school. Dad had gone to work with Johnston (who had a morning shift as well), so that had left the car for Mom.

"Here we are," she said when she stopped in front of the school. I sat beside her, looking out of the window nervously.

Sighing, I eventually grabbed my bag and opened the door. "See you later, then."

Giving me a reassuringly smile, Mom said, "Good luck, and have a nice day," before driving off.

"You too," I mumbled after her, watching the backlights of the car vanish behind the next corner. I remained standing where I had gotten out for another moment, then, squaring my shoulders, I walked into the building and toward the principal's office.

My class was small. There were only four other girls and six boys – and from what the principal had told me, it was already one of the larger classes. I didn't want to imagine what the other ones looked like.

My introduction could have been worse. The principal himself led me to my classroom and gave my name to my future classmates. "I'm sure you'll all be welcoming Miss Roberts as much as you can," he added. "She arrived just last week so help her out and show her around these first days to make it easier on her." And with that he left, closing the classroom door behind him.

Standing in front of the others I felt like I was up for sale, the way they looked me over again and again. It was a long awkward moment, but it passed when the teacher, Mr. Bent, told me to sit down so he could start the lecture. I gratefully did as he asked, choosing one of the desks in the very back of the room. The other kids would have to turn around to look at me, and I had my back safely against a wall. So far, so good.

The morning passed peacefully with math, double-lesson Spanish, physics and English literature. The sciences were easy; the stuff Mr. Bent taught in math I had heard already in my old school. The exam I had written the day the school exploded had been about that specific topic among other things. Physics was similar, only that the topic the teacher dealt with was something my old class had gone through several months ago already. So I had time to relax and slowly get used to the new classroom and my peers.

Speaking of which – my peers were of course swarming me during the breaks. Questions like "When did you arrive?" and "How do you like it?" were on the rare side, however. Instead, the most prominent inquiry was "What are the ranks of your parents?" I was at first surprised to be asked that of all things, but quickly remembered that I was on an island run by a military base. Of course the kids in school would all have their parents working with the army at some degree, even if it was the guy running the store across the street.

"My dad's with the Navy," I told them. "Medical Corps. He's a physician." Hoping I could somehow avoid the question about the rank, I'd given the first best information that came to my mind.

The boy – I hadn't yet caught his name but didn't want to bring it up – having asked rolled his eyes. "But what is his rank? If he's with the Meds, then he must be at least an Ensign."

The girl, Sandra I thought her name was, next to him shook her head. "I think someone once said that when completing med school for the Navy, you're automatically ranked as a lieutenant." She nodded once, pensive as to whether or not her information sounded logic, then both she and the boy looked at me expectantly.

"Well…" I stalled. Was there really no other way out? "Yeah, you could say he's a lieutenant."

The boy frowned. "Either he is or he is not. So out with it. What's his rank?"

I sighed in defeat. "Yes, he's a lieutenant."

Silence fell and Sandra exchanged a long glance with the boy. Then both got up and walked away, not changing another word with me the entire day. Maybe I wouldn't face being bullied again, but being ignored or left out because my dad was ranked higher than theirs couldn't be a solution either, could it?

Luckily, the bell rang and the next class began, forcing me to focus.

Different to sciences, Spanish was another song and dance entirely. In my old school, at the end of sixth year, there had been the choice between science-oriented education and education focused more on languages from grade seven onwards. Not being one to be verbal, I had of course chosen the sciences, preferring the straight lines and equations over interpretation and translations. I did have had Spanish for three years, but the basic vocabulary and grammar I had learned was already rusted and as good as gone again. I would have to start from scratch with Spanish, already hating the extra work. English literature was similar, but thankfully, the class was reading Shakespeare. I could at least follow for now.

Lunch break was a depressing affair. It had started raining again so everyone stayed inside in the school cafeteria. I sat by myself at a table near the window, staring outside at the buckets of rain pouring down and transforming the meadow into a marsh. The usually green environment of Diego Garcia was painted in all shades of gray. Sighing, I decided to not let that dampen my spirit and turned back to my Spanish homework when someone asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Looking up, I saw a girl of about my age stand there, a tray in her hand. She smiled down at me. I couldn't remember having seen her before so she was not in my class. _Either a year up or below me_, I thought. Shrugging, I said, "Sure. Feel free."

"Thanks." She put the tray down and slid into the chair opposite me. I moved my open Spanish book aside to give her more room. She read the page though, saying, "I remember when we talked about it last year."

I perked up. "What grade are you in?"

"Ninth. You?"

"Eight."

She smiled again. "You're the new girl, right? Chloe Roberts."

I nodded, stabbing the fork into my salad. _Here we go again_, I thought sarcastically. But the girl didn't pose any questions for a while. When I looked up, I saw her staring down at her own tray.

She must have noticed me looking 'cause her head lifted and our eyes met. She smiled warmly. "I'm Annabelle Lennox. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand and, baffled, I took it.

After another bite, I did the double-take. "Wait, like in _the_ Lennox? Colonel Lennox's daughter?"

Grimacing and averting her eyes, she nodded. "Yeah." Looking at me again, she said, "I know the feeling of being rejected – not because of what you did but because of who your father is." We sat in silence for some time and then she asked, "So how do you like it here so far?" She sounded curious.

I shrugged. "It takes some time getting used to. I mean, this obviously isn't D.C. or anything in the States, but… well… there's so much green and blue… I'm not sure I'll be overly happy here." I knew it sounded lame, but that was how I felt about this island.

To my surprise, Annabelle chuckled. "There were times when I thought the same," she admitted softly. "I've lived here as far as I can remember, but we occasionally do go stateside to visit family. But this has been my home so I'm used to it." She looked at me with a reassuring smile in her face, as if she wanted to tell me I'd be okay – eventually.

I smiled back, but didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't speak at all. Annabelle seemed to feel similar and didn't open conversation again herself, even though I would have thought her to have a very easy-going personality that allowed making friends quickly. She seemed to be the complete opposite of me. So we sat in silence for now, but it wasn't a tense or uncomfortable one; it felt good. But I wondered why she sat with me when she could have chosen any other table. With her open-mindedness, she should be able to make friends easily – were it not for the social 'handicap' of her father being the highest ranking officer on Diego Garcia, I suddenly realized, remembering the interrogation I had endured from my classmates that morning.

An idea occurred to me: Maybe I could be her friend? The thought was nice and sent warm fuzzies through my stomach, but I had no idea of how to be a good friend. I never had had one, had no idea what a friend was supposed to be doing. Could I suggest to her of becoming her friend? But wouldn't that be harassment? What if she didn't want to be friends with me?

I grew nervous; I wanted to talk to her, say something, anything really – but I didn't have the guts. To me, the silence started to become uncomfortable, and if I didn't do anything, it would turn awkward, I was sure of it. It had always been like that in the past, whenever I had been in a situation like that. And the result was always the other person turning away from me.

Thankfully, the bell then rang and announced the end of the lunch break. I hastily packed my books and notes away. To an outsider, it must appear like I was running away from Annabelle, but I needed more room and time to think. But like I was used to from my old schools, when Annabelle then stood, she said, "It was nice talking to you. See you," and was gone.

I cursed myself; I was such an idiot. She'd been nice to me and I'd driven her away with my silence. Why couldn't I be more of an out-going person like she was? We could have so much fun together! But no, there I sat with a girl that had tried to chat with me and I couldn't even get a nice word out. Suddenly, the gray outside seemed very fitting to my situation. I was a wallflower. What was a really beautiful girl like Annabelle supposed to be doing with me anyway? I was a nobody.

Sighing, I finished packing up and marched to my afternoon classed, double biology. At least I had time to mull things over there, expecting it to be another easy class – which it was.

…

Dad was already back from work when I came home from school. He sat in the living room and tried hooking up the computer to the internet, now and then softly grumbling under his breath when something didn't work like he wanted it to. I watched over his shoulder for a moment and then decided to leave him alone with this battle, instead preparing for my own: Spanish homework. I couldn't quite fathom why I would have homework already anyway; it was only the first day after the summer after all! But if I wanted to be able to pass the class, I had to dive into Spanish vocabulary. So rather starting earlier than later, I trudged up the stairs.

Mom returned several hours later when my bedroom floor looked like the rain of the previous night really had been a typhoon, throwing all of my books around and discarding them wherever it pleased. I myself sat cross-legged in-between the piles and crammed basic grammar into my mind – whether or not I was successful with studying I couldn't really say. So when I heard a car in the driveway, I decided I'd earned a break and went downstairs.

Dad had already started preparing dinner and setting out the table for which Mom was really grateful. I sat on the lowest step and watched them for a while. Mom and Dad were laughing a lot together, or smiled at each other with a smitten look in their eyes. And they were kissing each other from time to time. They seemed truly happy; they were together again, day in and day out. There was no separation anymore. We were a real family. I supposed that should have made me happy, but somehow, it didn't – not really. To me it felt like I was missing something. I felt alone.

During dinner, Dad told us about the new position he would fill coming next month. His predecessor was about to retire and Dad got promoted to Chief Medical Officer of the base. He was really excited about it and Mom was happy for him. The topic then went to today's anecdotes and onward to Mom telling us all about the invitation she received from Mrs. Epps.

"It's Theresa's birthday next weekend and they're having coffee and cake in the afternoon." She looked at me while reaching for the salad. "They have three kids; two sons, Graham and Daniel, and a daughter, Akeela, just shy of a year. Theresa showed pics of them today and they're really cute. If you wanted, I'm sure you could babysit them now and then, Chloe. You could earn yourself some pocket money."

I chewed slowly, thinking about it. I'd never before babysat. Maybe it was something I could consider. "How old are the boys?" I asked before taking another bite.

"Graham's three years old and Daniel's six."

Finishing my potatoes, I said, "I'll think about it." And I meant it. Small kids could be a pain in the unmentionables, but they could also be really sweet. One only needed to gain their trust and friendship – at least, that's what I've read. I didn't yet have practical experience with these theories but I planned on taking the 'party' as a test drive.

Mom smiled. "You do that. Oh, by the way, the Lennox' will be at the party too. You already met the Colonel, hon, but Theresa says his wife Sarah is really nice and a good friend of hers. And they have a daughter about your age. You should meet her. I'm sure you two will be great friends."

And there we were right in the middle of the topic I didn't want to talk about. "I already met her at school today," I said dismissively, looking down onto my plate and hoping my tone would tell Mom to not press any further.

Of course, she did. "Really? Did you talk? What about?" She took a sip of her tea. "You should invite her to lunch for Sunday."

I still didn't look up, but out of the corner of my eyes I saw Dad put a hand on Mom's. I could just imagine him softly shaking his head at her while she looked at him curiously before her face morphed into an expressive mix of worry, hurt and sorrow. I loved my mother, I really did, but getting a look from her with these emotions clearly visible I absolutely hated.

So before either could say something, I stood, saying, "I have to study. Night," then I ran up the stairs, firmly shutting the door behind me.

I didn't study but quickly undressed and went to bed, pulling the bed sheet over me. (It was way too warm to use the usual duvet, but too cool to sleep without covering myself up. So a bed sheet was the best alternative.) I knew that once Mom and Dad were done with talking about me – I could hear their murmur in the kitchen below – Dad would come up. Mom never spoke with me about such things, or at least she hadn't done so in several years. When I'd still been in primary school and gotten bullied by classmates, she would have sat down with me and we had talked. But ever since starting middle school, there hadn't been these one-on-ones. Dad had then taken on this job, and whenever he was home and something like of tonight happened, he would come to me, sit down and we talked.

So when I heard footsteps on the stairs and the knock on the door, I knew it was him. I lay face down on the bed, my head hidden under the bed sheet. He didn't wait for an answer to his knock because he knew it would never in a million years come, so he just entered and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked softly. I didn't answer – as I never had in the talks we had before – and he knew I wouldn't, so he continued, "It's because of Annabelle, isn't it? Did she say something nasty to you?"

I moved, indicating a shaking of my head.

"Then why did you take flight when the topic moved to her?" He put a gentle hand on my back and stroked it softly. His touch felt reassuring.

I sniffed once, then mumbled, "She didn't do anything. I did. Or rather, I didn't."

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Sitting up abruptly and turning toward him, I blurted out, "She's been really nice to me, different to my classmates. They were firing questions at me like we were on the military academy and I would be thrown out if I couldn't answer. But she… she just sat with me at lunch and made conversation, but I didn't answer her! I just… I couldn't speak. I wanted to, I really wanted to, but what if what I said would have been insulting? Or disgusting to her? She's the Colonel's daughter!" My head hang and I looked down on my hands playing with the bed sheet in my lap. "Why can't I be as easy-going as she?"

Dad moved to sit closer to me, then hugged me to his side. "Honey, why would you want that? I don't want to say Annabelle is like that, but often, people with an easy-going attitude and out-going character speak before they think, having a huge tendency to making things worse. You sit back and mull everything over before you blurt out."

I sniffled. "But I mull things over for far too long. The silence was at first okay, but when I didn't say something, it became awkward. I wanted to be nice to her. I just… wasn't."

He kissed the top of my head. "What are you afraid of, Chloe?" he inquired.

Another sniffle; I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. "That she'll reject me. No one likes me. Everyone turns away from me."

"And why would Annabelle Lennox be like others?"

I looked at him. "'Cause she's damn beautiful! She's a really beautiful girl, Dad! Everyone would want to be friends with her!"

"But do they?"

Opening my mouth to shoot back a retort, I realized I couldn't say it. Annabelle's words came back to my mind: _I know the feeling of being rejected – not because of what you did but because of who your father is._ "No," I eventually croaked, looking down again and tears coming to my eyes for real now.

Dad got up and knelt in front of me so that I could look at him – and he _made_ me look at him. "You need to remember one thing, Chloe: We're not in the States anymore. This is Diego Garcia, an island run by a military base. The kids in school are from soldiers and officers. They do not go by popularity, but by rank. As a soldier will show respect to his superior, the kids were trained on that from their birth, without knowing it. The son of a Private will not attempt to make friends with the daughter of the Colonel."

I dabbed my eyes. "And the daughter of a Lieutenant? Can she make friends with the Colonel's daughter?"

He smiled slightly. "If she were born here, I might say no. Not because I believe it," he hurried to add when my face fell, "but because you would be raised with this kind of thinking. However, you were not born here and grew up on the continent. You know how different it could be. I can't be certain but I think Annabelle feels lonely herself. That's why she tried to get to know you today. To me it looks like she wants to break out of the respect toward superiors the kids have been instilled on."

I sniffled again and developed a hiccup. "You really think that?" I asked miserably.

He nodded. "I do. So stop worrying. Try to just be yourself. You've seen Johnston and the Epps'. They reacted amiably toward you and you to them. Johnston told me this morning that he and you had quite some fun last week while getting settled in. You opened yourself up to him. Do the same with Annabelle."

Another sniffle from me, then I asked, "What if she doesn't want to talk to me again?"

He smiled. "This school is small. And if she doesn't have a lot of people to talk to, you'll be her only chance for a girls' friendship. Even if she doesn't actively seek you out the next days, eventually, you'll speak to her. If not at school, you can still talk to her at Theresa Epps's birthday party."

I mulled that over. There was the slight hope that I might still become friends with Annabelle. But I was afraid of that. What if I disappointed her? I told that my dad and he squeezed my knee in reassurance. "You'll never know if you don't try."

"But I don't know how."

"Just follow your instincts, sweetheart. Don't over-think it. Just go with what your heart tells you. Every friendship is different. A lot is about compromise – like love and marriage. But someone like Annabelle will need a different friend than let's say Marcus would have needed. There is no rule book on how to be a great friend. Just show her that you want to talk to her and maybe have some fun now and then. Everything else will develop from there. Just give it a try. Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

He smiled and stood, squeezing my knee once again in reassurance. Before he closed the door behind him, I mumbled, "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, honey. Good night."

* * *

><p>Theresa Epps is another OC created by the Botosphere, being introduced in "Introductions: Theresa Epps". Be sure to check her story out.<p>

Reviews are always love. :)


	5. Try and Might

Thanks, everyone, for the great feedback! Now please enjoy the next installment.

* * *

><p>– chapter four –<p>

**Try and Might**

Tuesday started marginally brighter than Monday. The sun was shining and everything was light and colorful. My mood brightened exceptionally and I was close to joyful when arriving at school. Mom had given me a lift again, wishing me good luck once more. I thought I would need it.

I didn't spy Annabelle anywhere around, so I assumed she was either running late or already inside the building. As my own class, world history and a double lesson to add, would start in a few minutes, I didn't have time to seek her out. Maybe I would be able to do that during lunch.

But before that, I had double chemistry. The teacher lectured on the table of the elements (one or two elements per class), and the last hour was spent on practical experimentation. We were to find out the melting temperature as well as the boiling point. The best part, however, was when we were allowed to burn the elements over the Bunsen burner. Magnesium burned with a bright white flame and it was really cool to watch the chemical reaction inside the test-tube. My classmates were kind of bored by the experimentation, not really participating in the class. But when Mrs. Jolley explained the reasons behind the flame, I took notes animatedly. Chemistry was real fun.

Since Mrs. Jolley had combined the lessons without a break in-between, we were released to lunch break with a head start of five minutes. There was no queue yet in front of the food counter, so I didn't have to wait too long. Also, I could choose where to sit, too, all tables still being free. So I sat facing the entrance to the cafeteria. I wanted to see when Annabelle came in.

But when she entered, she was talking to someone, not once looking around. She and the girl walked to the food counter and even sat down together at a table far away from mine – or at least, Annabelle had already sat down when the girl was called to another table. I could see on Annabelle's face that she wasn't happy with that turn of events, but she didn't get up to follow the girl. I wondered whether I should go over to her, but like yesterday, I suddenly felt shy and unsecure. What if she didn't want me to sit with her? Besides, I was already done with eating, she just started. And I didn't want to impose on her. So I stayed where I was, letting the chance pass away.

…

When I went home after school, I found my dad in the driveway, our car parked in front of him. The hood was propped open and Dad was bent over, working on the motor. Curiously, I walked up to him, taking a peek. That was when I noticed Dad was only holding a flashlight into the chassis.

"I think the ignition got overheated," someone said from below, the voice sounding muffled. "Happens all the time with older cars here in the heat." I looked around the open hood to see who was lying beneath the car; since only the legs were sticking out, I didn't recognize him. There was a grunt, followed by the person sliding out, saying, "We should try to get a new one in there – maybe that will stop the motor from overheating for a while until I can tune it up. Oh, hi, Chloe." It was Johnston; he sat up and wiped away the perspiration from his forehead, smudging some oil all across his face. He sent me a smile.

"Hi," I returned.

Dad looked up only now and noticed me standing next to him. "Hey, honey. How was school?"

I helped Johnston stand up. "All right," I said, shrugging. "We've had some practical experiments in chemistry. It was really cool how the magnesium burned. Did you know its flame is white?"

Johnston laughed quietly while Dad said, "No, I didn't – until now." He took up a bottle of water standing next to what could only be a tool kit and took a sip.

In the meanwhile, Johnston was busying himself with the motor. "Okay, like I thought. Ignition plug's gone. Need to change it." Dad went to him and pointed the flashlight again. Waving a hand in my direction, Johnston asked, "Can you give me the spanner, Chloe?"

I stood next to the open kit that was packed with all kinds of weird looking tools, but I had no idea which one to hand over. When I still hadn't handed him anything after a couple of moments, Johnston looked at me. I shrugged, helplessly pointing to the tool kit.

He grinned. "Should have known you had no idea." He pointed with his chin. "It's the long thing that looks, with imagination, like a T."

I bent down and took out a tool that had handles formed like a T, at the long handle's end a longer casing with the inside concave. It hung around loosely and I wondered whether it was broken. But Johnston took it and set to work immediately.

I stayed and watched with interest. Johnston quickly took apart the motor (not really, or the car wouldn't have run anymore I thought, but enough to do what he needed to do) and changed the ignition, replacing the burned one with a shiny new one. He was done with that within a few minutes.

"All right, let's see if it works again. Try starting it."

Dad skipped toward the driver's side and turned the key. At first the motor was stubborn and didn't start, but on the second try, a furious revving ran through the engine before quieting to a gentle hum. Johnston grinned.

"There you go. Purring as smoothly as a kitten." He shut the hood again and wiped his oily hands off on an old rag.

Dad shut off the engine again and got out of the car. "Thanks a lot. Wouldn't have known where to start really."

Johnston shrugged. "Anytime. Let me know if there's another problem."

"Will do."

Of course, once Johnston was gone and Dad and I were alone at home, he asked about how talking to Annabelle has been like. Seeing his disappointment before he could catch himself when I told him I didn't get to speak to her was a sting to my heart. He only wanted the best for me, and a friend would do me a lot good he said. And I didn't want to disappoint him. But somehow, the whole thing got an air as if this was recruiting. I wanted Annabelle to choose for herself whether or not she wanted to be my friend. I could hardly make that decision for her, could I?

…

Wednesday was another sunny day, but there was some stronger wind going. If I was correct, we would have another rain shower that evening at the latest. So far, the sky was only occupied by very small and thin waves of clouds; the rest shined in brilliant azure.

Classes were all right. I had Spanish again and even got called on by my teacher. Since I couldn't answer in a grammatically correct sentence, I was asked to stay and talk to the teacher after the lesson. Senora Cadina was very considering and helpful once I explained to her my problem with Spanish; she even offered to schedule a daily tutor session with me after my regular classes. That little talk, however, meant that I was late for lunch. Annabelle already was there, sitting alone again. She was engrossed in reading a heavy-looking book; I couldn't see the title. So I quickly went to get my food, then turned to walk over to her table. But when I was just another two steps away, I stopped, standing in the middle of the cafeteria and unsure of whether or not I should approach her. She was reading, for God's sake! I could hardly disturb her with that, could I?

No, I couldn't I decided so I chose another free table further down and walked by. I took a glance back at her and our eyes briefly met. Embarrassed, I quickly looked away and sat down, hiding behind the students in-between our tables. But once I sat, I realized I'd had the chance to approach her and threw it away again. Groaning, I folded my hands in front of my table and hid my face. I was such an idiot.

Thursday started like Wednesday had – in regard to Annabelle and the weather – and the lunch break didn't show any new chances either. I didn't see Annabelle at all in the cafeteria. But I was running late to gym once I'd eaten. And I felt like I couldn't move, being so full. Maybe I shouldn't have had lunch before gym class.

Gym proved to be a surprise. In the girls' changing room, I met several girls that did not belong into my class, among them Annabelle. Apparently, her and my year had gym class together. I stood in the door, surprised at that turn of events, until someone snapped at me. "Close the door! The boys are going to peek!" So I hurried in and took a locker in the back of the changing room, quickly getting out of my clothes and into my sportswear. The other girls were already walking into the gym, chatting animatedly. So I hurried after them.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen," our teacher said once everyone was assembled, "we're going to start with volleyball – beach volleyball in fact."

"I don't see a beach in here," one of the boys of Annabelle's class remarked snarkily. His peers laughed.

The teacher wasn't impressed. "Well, if you like, we can go down to the beach and play there. Only then you'll all be soaking wet." He nodded toward the windows; it had started to rain again, much earlier than I expected.

"No way!" the same girl that had snapped at me earlier shouted. "We're not going outside."

The teacher didn't let himself be pulled into an argument. "It's eleven against nine," he declared. "If the boys want to go play outdoors, we're moving this class to the beach."

A few of the girls started protesting heavily, shouting at the boys how stupid they could be. I thought I heard one mentioning ruining her hair when she had to go outside. I could only shake my head at their antics. One should think that all these kids being from militaries, they had at least some sense of duty and would not worry about their hair or nails. But apparently, the school in Diego Garcia wasn't so different to my old school.

"Idiot," someone mumbled softly under their breath next to me. I turned to see who it was: Annabelle. She looked up when I glanced in her direction. "It's always only her hair, her looks, her fingernails…" Rolling her eyes she added, "We're in school, not a diva show." Her tone told me she wasn't happy with the girl.

In front of us, some boys and the girl started discussing the location of our gym class. Mr. Porter came over to us who only stood by and said, "While Miss Jakes is trying to make her point, I'd like the rest of you to form teams of two, grab a ball and start warming up. Stand away from each other and throw the ball to your partner who needs to catch it, then they throw it back." He walked back to diffuse the loud argument that by now had broken out, leaving us to our own devices.

I looked around, unsure of whom to ask to team up with me. But my classmates were ignoring me. So I thought I had to team up with one of the older students, but they too seemed to form teams quickly. Only Annabelle was left out from what I could discern.

Before I could muster any courage to talk to her, she gave me a smile. "Seems we're left out. Wanna team up with me?"

My eyes widened, but I caught myself quickly. "Gladly," I croaked. Blushing slightly in embarrassment, Annabelle nodded and walked to fetch us a ball. I ambled after her, unsure of what to say.

She led us a bit aside so that we would have enough space – and our peace. "You know, I don't bite, Chloe," she said softly, throwing the ball in my direction.

The blush that had already gone came back and I nearly let the ball drop. "Why… why would you say that?"

"Because you're avoiding me." She caught the ball easily and hauled it back quickly.

Flustered, I stammered, "I'd never…"

Annabelle had to lunge forward to catch my too weakly thrown ball, so there was half of the distance left between us now. She didn't throw the ball back, instead regarding me for a moment before saying, "I've watched you in the lunch break yesterday when you were trying to figure out where to sit. You practically stood at my table but walked away. Why would you do that if you didn't avoid me?"

She had noticed me?

Before I could defend myself – or whatever – she continued, "You know, I thought we could talk to each other – if only now and then – but if you don't want to…"

Dad's words from Monday night came back to me: _I think Annabelle feels lonely herself._ But she thought I was rejecting her, and I had that fateful first day at school. I really should apologize and promise to do better next time, but all I got out was, "You were reading and… and I didn't want to interrupt you."

She grimaced, averting her eyes. "Guess that plan backfired then." Glancing back, she noticed me giving her a curious look. She laughed lightly. "That was to defer anyone else, but I hoped you'd not get deterred and sit down with me."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, well, after all, I was the first to interrupt you with reading." When I frowned, she gave another laugh. "On Monday, when you were engrossed in your Spanish book."

I actually felt my face heating up with the blush this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't want to embarrass you."

"No!" I blurted out and blushed again. This was the chance to make it up with her, but instead of seizing the moment, I made everything worse. "I mean, I was fine with it and was actually glad I didn't have to study Spanish in my lunch break."

She grinned. "Gotta need a break somewhere, don't we?" she asked rhetorically. She absent-mindedly played with the ball in her hands.

"Yeah," I agreed, remembering the embarrassing situation yesterday morning.

Mr. Porter hollered from across the gym, "No chatting over there, please. It's gym time, no coffee party."

Annabelle gave him an apologetic wave before turning back to me. "You any good at Spanish?" she suddenly asked and threw the ball at me on top of that.

Surprised, I barely caught it. "No. I have to start from scratch."

She raised her eyebrows, catching my ball with apparent ease. "Didn't they teach you in your old school?"

"They did," I answered while fishing the ball out of the air, "but I chose the sciences route rather than languages." Annabelle frowned and I explained, "My school encompassed all years from kindergarten to senior level. It was more of a… private institution you could say. Most of the kids had their parents with the military so the military sponsored it and even gave a few scholarships to hand-selected students that received over the top marks in every class."

"Wow. The military doesn't really support our school, but here on Diego Garcia all K12 classes are combined to one school as well." She caught the ball and after turning it over in her hand once, hauled it back.

I hadn't yet noticed; maybe I was still too new to know how the school on Diego Garcia functioned. "Seems that way."

"So you could ignore languages and study sciences only?" she inquired curiously.

"From year seven on, yes. I had had Spanish in grades four to six, but dropped it when I decided I'd rather take higher math courses than a foreign language. Apparently, one year was enough to let me forget anything I learned about grammar and vocabulary in three years."

Annabelle giggled. "Would be the same for me, only reversed. I'm not much into sciences really. I can follow all fine, but…" She shrugged. "Would be nice to drop chemistry."

I grinned. "Chemistry is fun. We studied magnesium the other day."

"Ugh." She grimaced, throwing the ball back toward me. "Don't remind me. I have homework and no idea yet really where to start."

"I could help," I began, blurting out before thinking. _Damn it, silly,_ I scolded myself, _she's a year ahead. How can you possibly be of help to her?_

To my surprise, Annabelle smiled gratefully. "That would be awesome." She caught my ball. "And if you want, I could help with Spanish. I'm not _that_ great with the language, but be— eh, well, yeah…" She trailed off lamely and then bit her lip, blushing. I wondered why; she hadn't done anything embarrassing.

Before I could reply, Mr. Porter was whistling for us to assemble. He then set up another practice to fine-tune our feel for the ball. Since the exercise consisted of running, throwing and catching the ball again, I couldn't talk to Annabelle anymore. And after another twenty or so minutes, the various teams were playing against each other. Though, even when sitting aside, we were surrounded by our classmates and didn't speak.

The little chat we had made me look forward to Friday lunch break though. Maybe Annabelle and I still had a chance to work out a friendship. I wanted to; I really liked her.

…

Friday started great and both Annabelle and I managed to sit down at the same table. But before we could start talking, a boy ambled toward our table. I wondered if he wanted to ask Annabelle out, but then I recognized him from my old school.

"Hey babe," Cole Black said suggestively, sending me his winner smile he usually only reserved for his girlfriend. "What a coincidence to see you here on this small spot of land."

I think my jaw hit the table. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Annabelle looking at me curiously, her eyes gleaming with interest. I sat frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

Cole Black was the good looking type, a boy every girl was having a crush on at one point or another. Like Marcus, Cole was a great athlete, but he wasn't that popular with the school authority. Cole was rather going with the 'bad guy' reputation: skipping classes, not doing homework, attracting unwanted attention… Some girls seemed to favor such atrocious behavior, but I didn't. Besides, Cole was two years ahead of me and he had been in a relationship with Louisa Gerber for as long as I could remember. So I didn't know what he was doing here on Diego Garcia rather than being in the US, never mind comprehending his motives for greeting me like he had.

"Long time, no see, isn't it?" he continued when I still hadn't said anything. He grabbed a chair, turned it around and straddled it. He didn't even ask whether or not we wanted him to sit with us.

"What are you doing here?" I finally blurted out.

He frowned. "Aww, come on, babe, you not happy to see me?" He grabbed my hand closest to him and held it to his heart. "I missed you so much, but now I'm here. We'll never again have to be apart."

I tugged on my hand to get it loose – without success of course. So I looked to Annabelle to ask for help and she asked Cole, "So you know Chloe? Where from?"

At first I thought he was going to ignore her, but then he deemed her good enough to grant her an answer, even meeting her gaze when replying, "My name is Cole Black. Chloe and I go way back." Turning back to me and to my horror pressing a kiss onto the back of my hand he still held, he said, "But now we're together again and nothing shall separate us."

"You already said that to her," Annabelle threw in without hesitation. "But I wondered how you came to be on Diego Garcia. This place is run by a military base."

He looked at her again, his eyes no longer friendly. "My uncle is military. So when he can be here, I certainly can too." His tone had lost all warmth; that was the Cole Black I was used to.

"Really?" Annabelle said, leaning forward to signal interest. I didn't know whether or not she was just acting it up or really was interested in him. I would have to tell her a few stories about him once he was gone; she should be careful with him. "What branch does he serve in?"

"Why do you care?" Cole snapped at her impatiently. "A brat like you will never understand."

Annabelle acted like she'd been seriously insulted – putting a hand over her heart and pulling a dramatic grimace – but her tone spoke of heavy sarcasm. "I feel wounded. Well, if you don't want to answer, I'll just ask my dad then. As ranking officer of the base he certainly has heard of a Black serving under him."

Cole had turned back to me to stare me in the eyes, but the mentioning of 'ranking officer' caught his attention. "Is that so? As far as I know the ranking officer is Colonel William Lennox. Even a colonel will have nothing to say against an Admiral of the United States Navy."

"If they're on a ship that may certainly be true. But here on Diego Garcia where Dad's permanently stationed and your uncle is only a visitor, my father outranks him," Annabelle retorted without even flinching. I could only stare at her; she apparently knew so much more about the military than I.

Cole stood and finally dropped my hand. "The colonel only has a daughter which you can't be."

"And why is that?" she retorted politely.

"Because you look nothing like him."

"So? You do know that I also have a mother, right? If I don't have my father's looks, I will have inherited hers." She shrugged nonchalantly, as if discussing with Cole Black was the easiest exercise in the world.

Cole growled – actually growled – and then marched off. Annabelle watched him and waved after him cheekily. Once he had stormed out of the cafeteria, she started giggling.

At first I sat unmoving and blankly staring at her. Had she enjoyed riling him up? Then, because of her laugh being so infectious, a grin spread on my face until I couldn't suppress the giggles any longer. I must have looked really silly because once Annabelle had calmed down enough to look at me, she was hit with another giggling fit, so hard that tears started running down her cheeks. My stomach started to hurt from laughing and I was certain that everyone was looking at us. Usually I would have been embarrassed and taken to a run as quickly as possible, but now I felt at ease. That was Annabelle's doing. If I'd managed to really become her friend, then maybe I might finally stop being a coward and become more outgoing.

Eventually, Annabelle sobered and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. Now and then she would snort, probably from remembering something funny of the odd conversation. After another moment of silence, she said, "God, that was fun. We should do that more often."

We. She had said 'we' – not 'I'. We.

I beamed.

"So, where do you know him from?" she asked, finally getting around to eat her lunch.

With a start, I realized I hadn't yet eaten either. "Like he said, from my old school. He's been two years ahead of me though and we barely ever talked. The last time he paid me any attention was when he ran into me while I walked out of the library. Of course, he thought I'd been daydreaming and not been looking where I was going with my arms full of books, but really, he'd only had eyes for Louisa – his girlfriend," I clarified when I noticed Annabelle's questioning look. "She's a year below him, so your grade."

She looked pensive. "Then why is he here all of a sudden?" she pondered, picking through her salad. "And is it true with his uncle being an admiral?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it is. Cole wouldn't even have been admitted to the school; his grades are average at best and there's never been a week in which he hadn't been asked to the principal's office. But Cole doesn't care. If I remember correctly, he even once loudly claimed he hated to be at that school. He'd rather go to a public school where there's more freedom." I shrugged. "But because his uncle has great influence, he talked the board of directors into admitting him."

Annabelle took a sip of her Coke and mused, "Maybe with sending Cole to that particular school his family hoped to get him enlisted for the Army once he graduates. Do you plan to do service after school?"

I shrugged again. "I'm not sure yet what I want. I always imagined following in my Grandpa's footsteps." I smiled sadly at his memory. Noticing Annabelle's look, I explained, "He'd been an astrophysicist and told me lots of fascinating stories and theories from his work. He always promised to take me to the lab he worked in on my tenth birthday – but he died shortly after I turned nine."

Taking my hand across the table, Annabelle squeezed it reassuringly. "I'm sorry."

I smiled at her. "Thanks."

"So your school…"

"No. It was only sponsored by the military and most of the students came from families where at least one parent serves with the Air Force, Navy, Marines or Army. But there were kids from civilians, like Cole. But we weren't recruited or forced to follow a military career upon graduation. For all I knew us students and the teacher body counted as a bunch of civilians." I shrugged for the third time. "School here is the same, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Annabelle stabbed a potato rather forcefully. "Though I often wished it was public. That would allow more… freedom." She sighed.

I nodded. "I thought the same, but really, I got used to it. And somehow, when hearing other kids talk about their public schools, I was _glad_ I was going to a private one. At least there were some rules."

Annabelle sniggered. "Pity they didn't dump Black Coal on the public." I sniggered along with her; that was a really stupid nickname but so very fitting.

Much too soon in my opinion the bell rang and we had to break up to go to our classes. Before I could leave, however, Annabelle asked, "What did you say his uncle's name was again?"

"Admiral Keith Black, commander of the US Navy fleet."


	6. Honey Sweet

My apologies, everyone, for not updating earlier. I've been away visiting family, without internet access. But here we go with chapter 5 now. The next chapter will be up next weekend. Please enjoy!

Also, many thanks to my reviewers and everyone who favorited and/or set the story to alert. Your feedback always puts a smile on my face and gets my muse into gear to write faster. :) Keep the love coming! :D

* * *

><p>– chapter five –<p>

**Honey Sweet**

Mom was a wreck Saturday morning, claiming she didn't have the right present for Theresa Epps. Of course, she had found something and had thought it was a good gift at the time of purchase, but Mom often changed her mind in the last minute. Like today. Dad tried to talk some sense into her, but like usual in such situations, his words fell on deaf ears. So Mom went to the store to buy another present. After her return, she was marginally calmer.

Shortly after noon, we got into the car and drove the quite short distance to the Epps' house at the other end of the village. In front of the open garage sat the blue car of the family, a Chevrolet Vault as I found out on closer inspection. And next to it sat the black monster pick-up with which Johnston had fetched us from the airport. Colonel Lennox was unpacking some bags from the bed of the truck, but when he saw us, he came over.

"Hello, everyone," he greeted. "How was the trip?"

"Short," I answered truthfully – admittedly, I might have sounded a bit cheeky – while Mom elbowed me hastily, giving me _the_ look to show respect. Dad grinned but quickly smothered his expression to one of faked disapproval when Mom looked at him warningly.

The colonel laughed. "Better a short journey than one without end," he said while shaking hands with me and my parents. Mom wanted to salute – he was her superior after all – but he wouldn't have it. "We're both off duty, Private," he explained, pointedly reaching out to take her hand to shake it instead, "and in plain clothes, so please, call me Will."

Mom stared at him like he had gone crazy before diplomatically answering, "With all due respect, sir, that's all very… nice, but… I just can't call a ranking officer by first name, may we be off duty and at a private birthday party or not."

He nodded pensively. "Right. Still, Private, please, be at ease. From time to time I happen to be a civilian just like you. If it makes it easier for you, you may call me Mr. Lennox."

Mom smiled. "I can live with that, sir, Mr. Lennox."

Just then Annabelle came out to help her father, but when seeing us, she hurried over and pulled me away from the adults who moved on to other, more mundane topics. "I need to introduce you to someone," she said excitedly and led me to the side of the house. There, in the shadow of the garage, stood two motorcycles, a pink and a blue one. Two women who looked like sisters leaned against them but turned toward us when we came closer. "Chloe, that's R.C. and that's her sister Mia. They're co-workers of Dad, but like aunts to me." She grinned.

The woman named R.C. stepped forward and shook my hand. "River Christiansen, but call me R.C. Nice to finally meet you," she said amiably. "Annabelle has told us so much of you already we were starting to wonder when we'd finally meet you in person to see if her stories are true."

I blushed; Annabelle had told strangers about me? What exactly? I only hoped she didn't say anything condescending…

Mia Christiansen's blue eyes sparkled when she looked me up and down. "Don't listen to her," she eventually said, with her chin pointing at her sister. "She's always excited to get someone new to dress up."

"Dress up?" I asked bewildered while Annabelle broke out in laughter.

"R.C.'s to be counted responsible for everything I have in my wardrobe," she explained, giggling. "Shirts, trousers, jeans… Everything I own I got from her. She loves dressing me up like I'm a puppet."

"Not true," Miss Christiansen good-naturedly defended herself while Miss Christiansen— eh, Mia said, "Told you that's what Annabelle thinks of you." While I was still trying to think of how to call them – I couldn't call Ms. Christiansen R.C., even though she told me to, could I? – Miss R.C. tried to swat her sister in humored annoyance but Miss Chr— Mia skillfully dodged her. I had to smile at how the sisters acted; they seemed to love each other very much.

A tall dark-haired man wandered over from behind the house. "Caught you. So this is where all the femmes have vanished to."

Annabelle grinned but quickly smothered it to throw him an innocent look. "Not all femmes, Hyde. Mom and Mrs. Epps are still in the backyard, aren't they? And Chloe's –" she gestured toward me, "–mom is out at the front with Dad." To me she said, "That's Dad's best friend, Aaron Hyde."

Mr. Hyde harrumphed and Miss R.C. giggled while Miss Mia skipped over to him. "Is the big warrior moping?" she asked with batting eyelashes. Mr. Hyde blushed and grumbled something under his breath I didn't catch.

Miss R.C. seemingly had heard him; she giggled even harder but also took both Annabelle's and my hands to pull us away. "Let's give the lovebirds some private time," she said with a wink once she had gotten around taking a deep breath. She let go of our hands again when we reached the house's corner toward the backyard.

I stopped and glanced back over my shoulder. Miss Mia was practically dancing around Mr. Hyde which seemed to annoy him, but he couldn't dodge or grab her. Eventually, he lunged out where he supposed she would be the next moment, but Miss Mia quickly evaded him and brought some distance in-between them, all the while laughing. Mr. Hyde said something and Miss Mia skipped out of his reach again. She doubled back, though, to grab his wrist and then tried to twist his arm on his back. Mr. Hyde growled and wound around until he was free again. Trying to catch Miss Mia who faked running away and hiding behind the garage, Mr. Hyde vanished behind it as well and both were out of view.

Next to me someone started sniggering and that caught my attention. I turned to look and saw Miss R.C. leaning against the house. "Looking at your face one could believe you've seen a ghost," she remarked dryly while studying my expression.

I once more glanced at where Miss Mia and Mr. Hyde had vanished, then walked over to where Mrs. Lennox and Mrs. Epps were setting a table. Miss R.C. followed me. "Didn't you say 'lovebirds'?" I asked her, feeling perplexed. Miss Mia and Mr. Hyde couldn't be a couple. A relationship didn't involve trying to break the partner's arm.

But Miss R.C. was grinning. "They are," she said. "But their way of showing affection is… somewhat different to… other humans'."

I thought 'somewhat' was a good expression to describe the brawling I had witnessed. But maybe that was how they worked together; after all, every person was unique, so why shouldn't these two share a unique relationship? Not everyone was into romance with hearts and roses, and from the few moments I had seen Mr. Hyde, I would categorize him to be such type of man.

Annabelle had saved me a seat next to herself. She introduced me to her mother who was really sweet. She actually gave me a quick hug, even though I'd never before met her. My parents and Mr. Lennox then joined us and we all sat down. The only ones missing were Lieu— Mr. Epps and Mr. Tapp (Dad had told me he would be at the party as well). But they appeared not a minute later, carrying a big cake in-between them.

"Happy birthday!" Mr. Epps called and everyone fell into the chorus. Mrs. Epps was obviously touched and fell around her husband's neck as soon as the cake sat safe and sound on the table. Mr. Tapp quickly took a step aside, looking slightly embarrassed. Miss R.C. started wolf-whistling when Mr. and Mrs. Epps shared a long kiss.

"Get a room!" Colonel Lennox said with a laugh and Annabelle snorted.

A slyly grinning Mr. Epps pried his furiously blushing wife off him and escorted her to her chair, acting quite the gentleman. "You're just jealous, _Captain_," Mr. Epps called back.

"You wish, _Sergeant_." Colonel Lennox grabbed his wife and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Annabelle groaned and Miss R.C. wolf-whistled again. "You see, with such a beautiful wife, I don't have need to be jealous," Colonel Lennox said when he released Mrs. Lennox again – who was blushing as well, but lightly whacking her husband's arm in playful annoyance.

Mr. Tapp was smiling uneasily when he sat down next to me, but before I could ask him what the matter was, I caught Mom whispering to Dad, "If you even think about doing the same to me, you'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"Never would have dared," Dad reassured, but as soon as Mom looked away from him, he stole a kiss from her cheek. He winked at me and Annabelle (who was laughing so hard she was bent over the table, holding her stomach) while Mom slapped his arm, hard.

A few minutes later, a cheekily grinning Miss Mia and sulking Mr. Hyde reappeared, joining us at the table. Mrs. Epps took the honors of cutting the cake and with laughter handed out pieces to everyone just calling loud enough for their share. Mr. Hyde won the biggest slide and caused another round of laughter. All in all, it promised to be a funny afternoon.

Half an hour later when the cake was fully devoured, all presents were handed over and unpacked, and a second or third round of coffee was served, I was comfortably reclining in the chair, feeling content. It was a nice day – neither too hot nor too humid – and the company, as thought, was great as well. Mom was amiably chatting with Mrs. Lennox and Mrs. Epps, Dad was apparently keeping an interesting conversation with Mr. Hyde and Colonel Lennox while Annabelle joked with the Christiansen sisters. Lieutenant Epps was inside changing Akeela's diapers while Graham and Daniel were playing with their toy soldiers in the backyard's sandbox. The regular shooting noises they made suggested the boys had the time of their lives with their make-shift war.

A hand appeared in front of my eyes, waving. Blinking out of my daydream and focusing on the hand, I then locked eyes with Mr. Tapp. He sank back in his chair when he was certain he had my attention.

"What?" I asked curiously. Had I missed something? A quick sweeping glance around the table showed everyone was still busy with their conversations.

"You game?" Mr. Tapp asked.

I frowned in confusion. "What?"

Now he was the one with a confused frown on his forehead. "You were staring at the ping pong table –" he nodded to his right and I followed his gaze, "– so I thought you might want to play a game?"

_Oh!_ To my excuse, I had to admit I hadn't even been aware of the ping pong table standing there. And Mr. Tapp wanted to play with me? "Um…" I began, hesitating, "I'm not a good player."

"He's lousy," Miss R.C. said from across the table, winking at me. She had obviously heard our conversation. "You'll win for sure." Her sister was sniggering.

Mr. Tapp got up and quickly went to retrieve ping pong paddles and a ball from a box on the back porch. Handing me one, he repeated, "You game?"

I caught Dad's eyes and he nodded encouragingly while Annabelle started cheering me. Every pair of eyes was on me; I hadn't even noticed them interrupting their conversations. Sighing in defeat, I got up. "Game. But go easy on me, 'kay?"

He chuckled while we walked over to the table. "You heard R.C. I'm lousy."

Taking my position on one side, I replied, "I'm sure I'm a hundred times lousier." Mr. Tapp took his position as well and readied to serve.

"That's downright impossible," Miss Mia said confidently. "Jolt's a master in betting. In actual games he always loses."

How very much _possible_ it was he proved when the ball first hit his side, then shot straight toward my end. It hit my side of the table and bounced off. I couldn't even move to make an attempt to return it; the ball was just too fast. "One-zero for Jolt," Colonel Lennox declared when the ball had jumped off the table. I retrieved the ball and gave it back to Mr. Tapp for his second serve.

"Come on, Chloe!" Annabelle called. "You can beat him."

I didn't have time to point out to her that she must have been blind throughout gym class. I was bad in _any_ sport. Even if Mr. Tapp was a lousy player, no one was worse than I. I had the exclusive right on being lousiest.

I nonetheless continued the game, just out of pride. The second serve I missed again, pushing the score to two-zero for Mr. Tapp, but then the server changed and it was my turn. I hadn't played ping pong in a long time, but I hoped that my serve was still halfway decent enough to at least score. For the record, I managed to get the serve just right and anyone worse at the game than me would have missed it. But Mr. Tapp returned the ball, again at a speed that I couldn't reach it in time. "Three-zero for Jolt," Colonel Lennox announced unnecessarily.

With my second serve, I managed to return the ball back to Mr. Tapp when he countered my ball, but I shot it too far off the table. "Four-zero for Jolt." Sighing, I debated giving up or not. This was going to be embarrassing.

Mr. Tapp retrieved the ball and solemnly asked, "Game or give up? I wouldn't mind if you didn't want to play anymore."

"Who wouldn't mind winning?" I shot back.

He chuckled. "True. So what's your decision?"

I shrugged and took position. "Game. I just have to develop a tactic first."

He grinned and readied for the serve. "Then better hurry."

I did hurry, getting better and better each time the ball was served anew. I managed to keep the ball from flying too far or losing it when Mr. Tapp returned it to me, but nonetheless, it was always me making a mistake and thus losing points to him. I was getting frustrated and lost concentration, losing even more points. Eventually – _finally_ – Colonel Lennox declared, "Eleven-zero for Jolt. He wins the first round."

I was relieved that it was over, but then I grimaced. _Ugh._ "First round?" I asked incredulously. "You want another round after you practically killed me off?"

Everyone started sniggering except Mr. Tapp. He gave me a quick look over, like Dad used to when I crashed into a tree with my bike when I was six. "You're still standing and breathing. You're very much alive," he said, still very much confused.

The sniggering grew louder. "Figure of speech, Jolt," Mrs. Epps explained, bouncing a happily squealing Akeela up and down on her knees (I hadn't even noticed Lieutenant Epps having returned). "You totally owned that round, leaving her defeated without defense."

"I see," he slowly said, looking like he still didn't really understand.

Not wanting to try and make sense of that, I took the ball, not yet ready to admit defeat, even though I knew I had no chance to win against him. "You game?" I asked daringly.

His blue eyes focused on me and gleamed with the challenge. "Play up."

The second round started like the first one, but I managed to squeeze in a point for myself, changing the score to nine-one. I was dancing and screaming out in joy. Everyone clapped excitedly and started cheering or whistling for me, Annabelle, Miss Mia and Miss R.C. even singing, "Chloe! Chloe!" The only one not partaking in the spur was Mr. Hyde. He sat with his arms crossed in front of his chest and called, "Keep going, Jolt, you'll kick her aft."

Miss Mia hissed and swatted his arm. "You traitor!" she accused him. "You're supposed to cheer for Chloe."

"Why should I? You femmes already cheer for her," he retorted unfathomed while Colonel Lennox, Lieutenant Epps and Dad all indignantly shouted, "Hey!"

Annabelle glared at him. "Because it's only fair to cheer for the one losing," she informed him.

He harrumphed. "That is totally stupid. People cheer for their favorite sportsman, not the one losing. Besides, she has nine people cheering for her while it is only me cheering for Jolt."

Colonel Lennox grinned. "Admit it, Hyde, you have a bet running."

He grinned back. "Never would dare with the ranking officer around."

"That's what I mean. _Your_ ranking officers aren't around, so you can bet," Colonel Lennox stated. "But wait until I tell Prime."

"Or Prowl," Miss Mia mused, looking at Mr. Hyde pensively. He glared at her and the expression in her eyes grew wicked. "I wonder what he will say, especially after he forbade the betting pools…" Miss R.C. started sniggering.

"You wouldn't," Mr. Hyde growled.

Miss Mia leaned back in her chair. "I _so_ would – unless…"

"Unless what?"

She grinned. "Unless we play once Chloe and Jolt are done." She leaned over and softly added, "Just you and I… what say you, big warrior?"

He leaned toward her. "I say you're so dead already, _femme_."

"Bring it on, _captain_."

Miss R.C. was holding her stomach from sniggering so much. "If I didn't know any better, Hyde, you're in for getting spanked – by my sister no less," she wheezed.

Mr. Hyde harrumphed indignantly while Colonel Lennox sternly said, "Guys, knock it off till later. This is a birthday party, not Boomtown. We're guests here, not at home." His tone sounded like he wouldn't accept any contradiction. Both Mr. Hyde and Miss Mia looked guilty – at least a little bit – before he leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear that made her eyes gleam mischievously. When I met Annabelle's confused expression, however, I realized I wasn't the only one having noticed something… different going on, with us two apparently being the only ones not in the know.

…

After I lost five rounds to Mr. Tapp – my one point remaining alone – I gave up and left the field to Miss R.C. who enthusiastically took my position to play against Mr. Tapp. (Miss Mia and Mr. Hyde had long since been gone again, probably playing lovebirds behind the garage again.) He looked slightly unsure whether he preferred that change in opponent, but I was done, not only mentally, but physically as well.

Annabelle met me halfway toward the table and talked me into taking a little walk. "Let them have fun for a while. We can go explore the beach. I haven't yet been to this part." That sounded like a good option for me, so we set off.

It was an only five minute walk through a bit denser underbrush, but we took our time and it was totally worth it. While wandering through the green jungle, we enjoyed the various birds' songs that created a calm atmosphere. Little animals rushed over the path and through leaves, a constant rustling accompanying us until we arrived at the beach.

The beach, though, was totally deserted and absolutely beautiful. Marble white sand stretched as far as the eye could see, and the little bay lay hidden from view by high palm trees forming a natural camouflage. Turquoise waves gently rolled up the shore, but even over the sounds of the ocean one could still hear the birds singing in the underbrush. It was absolutely peaceful.

"You know, that's how I envision paradise," Annabelle said dreamily, bending down and slipping out of her shoes to feel the sand on her naked feet.

I followed her example. "I know what you mean. When we first arrived here and Dad took me to a walk at the beach down at cannon point, paradise was the first word that came to my mind."

We went a bit further toward the water until it gently lapped at our ankles. Annabelle turned toward me. "I'm glad your parents were stationed here. I'd never met you otherwise."

I smiled slightly. "I would like to say the same, only… I kinda miss the states." Pausing when I realized how Annabelle might interpret that, I quickly added, "That doesn't mean I don't like it here, but –"

She put a hand on my arm. "I understand. I think I would feel exactly the same if I knew how life on the continent was like. I've only been to the ranch my mom owns in California twice or thrice in my entire life, and then only for the duration of the summer holidays max. I don't know life away from this island."

"I could tell you," I offered. "Not that I'm a good story teller or anything, just…"

Annabelle smiled. "You always hide your own light under a bushel. But you don't need to, Chloe," she softly said. "You're a nice and polite person, and even though a bit shy, you're open to people being open to you. Stop hiding in your shell and come out. Live your life; you only have this one."

Ducking my head and blushing, I mumbled, "Thanks. No one apart from my parents told me that yet."

She looked appalled. "Well, it's about time someone does!" She grinned at me winningly. "Stop hiding and just be you. People here might not notice – not with their ranking philosophies – but when you go back to the states, it will make a difference."

"Thank you. It… it really means much to me."

Annabelle smiled. "What are friends for if not to support each other?"

Friends. She wanted to be my friend.

I was happy and smiled back. "True."

…

We wandered along the beach for a while, bathing our feet in the shallow surf. The water was really refreshing, so much so that Annabelle at one point glanced at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes that meant nothing good. She then bent down and with her hand splashed water at me. I shouted out in surprise – but also because the water was colder than I thought. Annabelle laughed.

That turned to a squeal, however, when I retaliated and splashed her. Annabelle wouldn't be Annabelle, though, if she didn't strike back herself, and so a splashing war broke out. Within minutes we were soaked to the skin but laughing loudly, having the time of our lives. Eventually, we exhaustedly sat down on the beach to catch our breaths.

"I've always wanted to do that," Annabelle admitted after a moment of silence. She was grinning.

I looked at her. "Why didn't you?"

She shrugged and lay down in the sand, shading her eyes from the sun with an arm. "Guess I never had someone to enjoy it with." She turned her head toward me and smiled warmly.

I grinned. "Now you do." I had intended for it to come out as a question, but for once I was glad I had phrased it as a statement.

We remained silent for another minute or so, then Annabelle asked, "Have you ever been in a splashing war before?"

I shook my head, laughing. "No. Guess I never had someone to enjoy it with either."

Annabelle grinned. "Well then, time to make up for what we missed, no?" And with that she jumped up and ran the few inches back into the water, making the water spray high and everywhere. Once in, she turned and positioned to splash me again.

I jumped up myself and evaded her, then quickly went into the water too.

…

Upon our return at the Epps' backyard – soaked to the skin, water dropping from our clothes as we went, but smiling widely at or laughing with each other – Annabelle and I were stared at by the adults. Colonel Lennox and Mrs. Lennox were quite at ease, the colonel even laughing out loud when Annabelle told him who won the 'splashing war', but of course Mom had to ruin everything.

At first she was surprised to see us standing there looking like drowned rats, then she started to bristle, giving me a lecture about getting ill and the possibility of having drowned and no one being there to save me and so on. Dad tried to calm her down again, but Mom ignored him, like usual when she was in the swing of things. I wouldn't have minded her temper, but we still were in the presence of everyone invited to the birthday party – and I could feel nine pairs of eyes hefted onto me. Over Mom's shoulder I caught Annabelle's apologetic glance.

_As if this had been her fault!_ I thought angrily.

Miss R.C. and Mr. Hyde came over, too, standing at my sides and trying to get Mom to relax, arguing that I was safe and sound – even though a bit wet – and that there was no need to get a brain aneurism about the entire thing. They meant well, but I rather had the impression Mom thought of them interfering in family business (and if there was one thing Mom hated, it was strangers trying to get a say where I was concerned). Besides, it only added to the humiliation I already felt at being lectured in front of everyone and over a topic Annabelle's parents only laughed about.

Eventually, I exploded. "I got it, Mom!" I told her in a fierce hiss, shutting her up effectively.

Mom blinked at me in surprise, looking like an owl. She opened her mouth several times to say something, but nothing came out. Wow, that was a first; I rendered my mother speechless.

To diffuse the situation while she still could, Mrs. Lennox stepped over and took me by my shoulders. "How about you and Annabelle go inside to change into something dry?" she suggested gently. "I'm sure Theresa has a few clothes she can lend to the both of you."

Mrs. Epps joined in. "Of course. Let's get you dry."

Annabelle quickly moved toward the house, following Mrs. Epps' offer immediately, and Mrs. Lennox steered me over too. Mom didn't react at first and let me go, but I still noticed her swivel around not a moment later. "We're not done yet," she hissed after me, but I also heard Dad whisper to her, his tone imploring, "Let it drop, Linda. Please. You're humiliating all of us."

Mrs. Epps showed us to the bathroom and took out two towels. She briefly vanished to look for dry clothes and returned not five minutes later, colorful dresses draped over her arms. "I'm sorry," Annabelle mumbled once we were alone again and toweling ourselves dry.

I shook my head, scrubbing my hair furiously. "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." I was still seething inside that Mom had dared lecturing me in front of everyone. How dare she?

Annabelle sighed. "But I started it," she insisted.

I let out my breath in a heavy sigh. Turning toward her where she stood sheepishly next to the door, her long tresses still wet but with her not even making an attempt to towel them dry, I calmed down again. "And I joined in. So if you need a culprit, we're both filling that position." Giving her a small smile, I added, "Just ignore Mom. She… just lost it."

Heaving another sigh, Annabelle sank down onto the stool in the corner. "I should apologize to your mother," she said, not letting go of the topic.

I wanted to tell her she didn't have to, but then I thought that maybe it would make her feel better. So I just shrugged, returning to toweling off my hair.

When we left the bathroom about ten minutes later, in companionable silence, little Graham came running toward us. His mouth was coated with an amber substance, and in his pudgy hand he held an open honey jar. His fingers were buttered with the honey, as were part of his lower arms. I raised my eyebrows and looked at Annabelle, her expression mirroring mine. She then crouched down to be on eye level with the boy. "And what do you have here, Graham, hmm?" she asked softly.

"Honey," he said seriously, but grinning a wide, half-toothless smile. "Tasty."

From where I stood, I could see Annabelle fighting a grin; the corners of her mouth twitched suspiciously often. Trying to look scolding, however, she asked, "And how did you get the honey jar down from the counter?"

The half-toothless grin widened. "Stool. I climb."

"I see…"

In that moment, Mrs. Epps entered the house from the back porch. When laying eyes on her son, she exclaimed, "Graham! What did you do, you little rascal?"

"Honey, tasty," was his answer, followed by an amused chortle. Mrs. Epps sighed dramatically.

Annabelle took the distraction to relieve Graham from the honey jar, her expression turning to a grimace when the honey came to stick to her hand as well, but before I could follow my friend into the kitchen, Mom appeared in the door.

"Chloe, we're leaving. Say goodbye." Her crisp, army tone told me she was still angry.

Sighing inwardly, I gave Annabelle a quick hug. "See you in school on Monday," I told her, feeling subdued and like the day hadn't been any fun at all.

She took my hand for a moment and squeezed it. "Hang in there," she whispered and I gave her a small grateful smile.

Mom didn't wait until we were back at home for the continuation of her lecture. If anything, she was even angrier than earlier, owed to the interference of Miss R.C. and Mr. Hyde I thought. "And how dare you talk back to me in that tone? I taught you better manners than that," she said. She had turned around in the passenger seat so she could look at me. Her eyes were narrowed dangerously.

"We didn't go in far and really, I know how to swim, Mom," I said, trying to stay calm. But I had to defend myself. I did nothing wrong. Besides, it was a hot day and I would have dried earlier or later anyway. I found Mom had no reason to make such a drama out of it.

Dad knew he should rather stay out of an argument between Mom and me, but he sided with me when pointing out, "Please stop making a hill out of a molehill, Linda. Nothing happened to Chloe."

Mom rounded on him. "But something could have happened. I nearly lost her once. I don't want to lose her again."

I thought I knew they were talking about the kidnapping again, and my suspicion confirmed when Dad crisply said, "You can't lock her in for the rest of her life. She needs to make certain experiences, and those are impossible to make when locked up. Chloe was having fun today and you ruined it for her. And now drop the topic or I make it an order."

It was _extremely_ rare for Dad to pull his rank to end an argument, so Mom knew he really was fed up when he did. She finally fell silent, but somehow it didn't make me feel better.


	7. Things Unseen

Many thanks for the feedback, everyone! I'm happy that my story keeps your interest. So now, as promised, here's the next installment. Enjoy reading and please review! :)

* * *

><p>– chapter six –<p>

**Things Unseen**

Monday dawned early and brightly. I blinked into the sunlight streaming into my window and groaned, then turned around and hid under the bed sheet. But the alarm clock had other plans in mind. Not a minute later it sounded violently, the vibration shaking the entire nightstand. I groaned again, reaching out to shut the alarm off, but as soon as that was done, someone was knocking on the door.

"Come on, time for you to get up. School's waiting," Mom called. She paused with the knocking, but when I didn't give an answer, she continued with it.

Gah! "I'm up, I'm up," I said tiredly, hoping that would satisfy Mom so she left me in peace.

But Mom wouldn't be Mom if she didn't know me. She opened the door. "Being up looks different to me," she said, probably taking in where I still lay hidden beneath my bed sheet.

"Can't we just say I'm ill?" I mumbled, already halfway back to sleep.

She didn't answer so I grudgingly opened my eyes to look at her. She stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked down at me, her lips pursed. _Oh-oh_. That pose never promised anything good. Knowing she now had my undivided attention, she said, "No. We never had to in your old school and we won't start it now. So get up and ready for school. We're leaving in thirty minutes. If you haven't eaten till then, tough luck."

Grumbling and sighing in defeat, I struggled to get the bed sheet off me and slowly sat up. When I was upright, rubbing my eyes and yawning, Mom turned around to go. "I told you to go to bed earlier. But no, madam thought staying up till midnight was all right."

"Meh. I was still watching TV."

"A series you've already seen dozens of time. You know those episodes by heart, Chloe." Before she shut the door, she added, "Now get up and hurry. And if we're having this conversation ever again, you'll be banned from watching TV until you move out."

Grimacing, I went through my morning routine: washing myself, combing my hair, brushing my teeth, getting dressed and packing my book bag, then hurrying down to the kitchen and forcing down some cereals before sprinting to the car. Mom locked the door and we were off.

"Really, Chloe, I know how obsessed you can be with your series, but you know these screenings are just repetitions," Mom brought the topic back up. "You have them on DVD for God's sake. Why not watch them in the afternoon after you're done with homework and go to bed one or two hours earlier?"

"That's not the same," I retorted, playing with a lock falling over my shoulder.

"How so? The episodes they show on TV are the same on the DVD boxes."

"But watching them on TV is… different. I don't need to decide what episode to watch. Were I to watch the DVD, then I'm spoilt for choice."

Rolling her eyes, Mom said, "Then watch the episode that's going to be shown on TV. And if you now tell me you have no idea what episode will be shown: We have internet access. Google the TV program and find out."

Closing my mouth again, I turned to look out of the window, remaining silent for the last few moments until we arrived at school. Ever since Saturday, arguing with Mom wouldn't go over well as she was still seething. She still hadn't forgiven me for getting soaking wet, nor had she forgiven Dad for siding with me. But she hadn't brought the topic back up, that much I needed to admit in her defense.

…

"Hi."

Looking up from my notes, I saw Annabelle sitting down across from me. "Hey," I greeted her back.

"Math homework?" she asked, glancing at what I was scribbling down.

I grinned and put the stuff away. "Yeah. Need to finish as much as possible. Dad's fetching me from school today and I won't have time this afternoon to do homework."

Cutting her potatoes, Annabelle asked, "Is he taking you somewhere special? A little sight-seeing tour, around the island?" She smiled, excitement in her eyes.

My answering smile was sad. "No. We're driving to the hospital. I got an appointment."

Instantly, her expression became worrying. "You all right? You're not ill, are you?"

"No!" I said, laughing quietly. "Just checking on me that everything's all right with my recovery."

Frowning in confusion, Annabelle asked, "What recovery? Have you been in an accident?"

Shaking my head no, I explained what had happened at the end of last school term. "I've been unconscious for about a week. But I'm okay now. Though, the docs said there was some sort of irregularity on the MRT scan the last time. They want to make sure it's nothing worrying; that's why I have today's appointment."

Annabelle had been grimacing during my tale. "Sounds pretty bad. You sure you're all right?"

"Yes, thanks. I feel fine and as healthy as a bear." I grinned which she returned. "It takes more than an exploding school building to knock me down indefinitely." She laughed at that, then we moved to talk about the party two days ago at the Epps' place. Especially the honey incident had us laughing a lot; little Graham had been too cute for his own good. Before we knew it, lunch break was over and we went to our classes.

…

Dad was already waiting when I left school after my last class. It was a car I hadn't yet seen, but not very pretty. Quite old would be my guess. The motor practically sounded ancient when Dad turned the ignition key.

"Everything's good?" he asked me once we were on the way.

I nodded. "Yeah. Annabelle and I talked about the party last weekend. She told me she and her mom helped with bathing Graham and cleaning the kitchen once we left. We should have seen the disorder the boy managed to create. There even were a few glasses broken. Mrs. Epps was surprised he didn't cut himself with one of the shards."

Dad nodded. "Seems he was lucky then." He smiled at me briefly before looking on the road again. "So you and Annabelle get along well?"

I grinned which for him was answer enough.

The hospital was next to the base, allowing for easy access in case one of the soldiers got hurt while at work. It was a two story building, nothing overly fancy or big really. Typical military style, in my opinion. But practical. If there was one thing the military got right, it was efficiency.

Dad parked the car on the visitor lot, then we walked toward the x-ray department. I had to sit down and wait for some time while Dad went to prepare everything. I grabbed a magazine – surprisingly, it was a quite current issue – and started reading the gossip of the show business. One could never know when such trivia would be useful, right?

I was halfway through the magazine when someone addressed me all of a sudden. "Hello, Chloe. Nice to meet you again."

Surprised to see Ron Hatchett again, I more or less blurted out, "Hi. What are you doing here?"

He smiled in amusement and sat down on the chair across from me. "Work of course. Your father and I are colleagues. Didn't you know?" I shook my head. Nodding, he continued, "He and I will check you up today. How are you feeling?"

"Ehm… I'm okay. I feel great."

"Really? No pain, no stings, nothing?" I shook my head and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Good to hear. Now, then, ready for the scanning?"

"Sure." I put the magazine back on the little table and followed him through the door Dad had entered a while ago.

A short hallway with a few doors to the left greeted us, with another short hallway branching off on our right. I saw a nurse jotting down something on a clipboard she carried around; she didn't pay us any attention. Apart from her and us, there was no one around. Following the right-hand hallway, Mr. Hatchett led me into a room with the MRT scanner.

According to Dad, the hospital in the states had scanned me when I was still out of it so I didn't remember anything. Therefore, when Mr. Hatchett handed me some sort of nightdress, I didn't know what he wanted me to do with it. I looked at him expectantly. He chuckled. "And here I thought you already know what to expect."

I grimaced. "Not really. I've only seen such a scanner in a TV show once, and they never had the doc explaining the patient what's going to happen." I shrugged.

"Point taken," he agreed. "Well, then, go change. You mustn't wear anything except this gown. You wearing any rings or watch, take them off. Metal will disturb the image we will get. You mustn't have anything metallic on your body when we start."

He showed me the little changing cabin. After quickly slipping out of my shoes and socks, I took off the thin jacket I had thrown over my shirt, the shirt itself, then the trousers. Not a hundred percent sure if I had understood him correctly, I called, "What about underwear?" I felt really silly and blushed.

"Nothing but the gown and panties."

Blushing even more furiously, I stripped my bra too, then threw over the gown. It wasn't overly long, barely reaching my knees. The arms were quite short as well. It reminded me of the gown I had worn in the hospital, only that the back wasn't open. I traipsed out, feeling exposed.

Mr. Hatchett helped me sit down on the… bed, then started to explain. "We are going to slowly drive you into the tube, head first." I followed his gaze and looked at the quite tight opening, the… tunnel itself quite long. I had to lie in there? Gulping down the nerves, I hoped I would fit. With a nod I turned back to him. But he gave me a long look. "Are you claustrophobic, Chloe?"

I glanced at the tube's opening again. "I'm not sure. It looks quite… tight."

"Do you want a sedative? It's fairly common to sedate people with claustrophobia."

After thinking about it for a moment and having taken another glance at the tube, I nodded. "Please."

I didn't know whether Mr. Hatchett had anticipated it or not, but he pulled out a syringe and set it down next to me, but he didn't yet inject its contents. "Once I'm done with the explanations," he said, smiling reassuringly. "You need your wits for the explanation beforehand."

"Okay."

"So, in order to get the images we want, we will create quite a strong magnetic field," he continued. "You might feel dizzy or even like throwing up because of that. If that happens and you can't stand it any longer, press this button." He showed me a hand unit with a red button on its top. "Once you activate it, the scan will be interrupted and you will be taken out of the tube. Please also use the button to signal us when it gets too cold or too hot, all right?"

I nodded in understanding, even though I wasn't quite sure how coldness or warmth would come to be in the MRT scanner.

"The magnetic field is produced by various spools. When switching them on and off, there will be quite some noise. So you better put on these ear protectors." He pointed to the pair lying on the bed already. "Furthermore, it's vital that you keep absolutely still. No twitching, no turning your head, nothing. Breathing is the only movement allowed. Understood?"

"Yes." I could lie still – I hoped. But to make sure I wasn't mistaken with my assessment, I asked, "How long will this take?"

"The scan? For the first set of images, approximately an hour. Then you will get a little bit of rest while we inject the contrast agents, then another hour for the second set of images." I grimaced and he chuckled. "Are you sure you can lie still this long?"

"I-I'll try."

"Good." He nodded approvingly. "The sedative should make you drowsy, maybe even sleepy. If you do fall asleep, that's fine. Just try to stay awake until we're done scanning your head if you don't fall asleep instantly."

"When will that be?"

He pointed toward a sort of circle structure in the tunnel. "That is where the magnet sits. Once the magnet is lower than your chest, it is safe for you to go to sleep. It doesn't even matter then when your head rolls to the side."

I nodded, quickly going through what he had said in my head again. There were the headphones, I held the hand unit with the red button, and he would sedate me any moment. Nothing could go wrong I thought. Only one thing remained…

"Do you know where my dad is?"

A noise sounded, like someone rapping with the knuckles against a window. Mr. Hatchett pointed to a black wall. "That is the observation room," he explained. "From up there we will keep watch over your vitals and operate the scanner. Your father is setting up the necessary programs. Do you want to see and talk to him alone for a moment?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'm good. I know he's there." I smiled slightly.

"Your call." I didn't say anything, just looked at him, so he nodded. "All right then. On we go."

I grabbed the headphones, put them on – leaving one ear halfway uncovered for now – and lay down, relaxing as best as I could. The bed was softer than I had expected and I wondered if I even would be able to stay awake long enough before they had scanned my head. I felt quite exhausted and would even more once the sedative ran through my system.

Looking at Mr. Hatchett, I followed his every move. He unwrapped the syringe from the foil package, then took my arm to slowly push the needle into its crook. He was gentle, but it still stung a bit, having me grimace. Though, once the needle was in, the sting was gone. He connected the syringe with the sedative bag via a pipe, set the bag to release the liquor and that was it. I watched with interest as the liquid started to flow through the pipe and into my arm.

"Give the sedative another moment to work," Mr. Hatchett told me. "It should not take long as I put the dose as high as possible without putting you into coma. I will finish calibrating the scanner and am right back, all right?"

"'kay," I mumbled groggily. I thought the sedative was already working but couldn't be sure.

I heard him rummage and work on the tube for some bit, switching stuff on. Thanks to the ear protectors, the noise was dampened considerably. I still heard how loud the room got when the tube started to hum to life.

The magnetic field must have been activated already because I slowly felt getting dizzy, even though I wasn't yet inside. Grabbing the hand unit more tightly, I ran my thumb over the button, just to make sure that it was still there and I could quickly press it if I needed. And then, suddenly, a thought struck. "Mr. Hatchett?" I asked. When he grunted an affirmative, I said, "Are you even a doctor?"

There was some silence, then he appeared next to me. He looked… astonished. "How did you come up with that one?"

Shrugging and feeling like I was close to drifting off for sure, I mumbled, "You don't have a title…" The humming grew louder and I became more and more tired.

"Well, I don't have a title – but I am still a doctor. Trust me; I know what I do," he said softly. "And now lie still please." He put my ear protector properly in its place.

The bed started moving then and I was slowly entering the tunnel. From up close it was even tighter than I had imagined. Inside, the humming was a tad muted, but I was grateful for the ear protectors as it was still quite loud. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed even more, trying to forget that I was trapped in a tight tube and unable to move for a solid hour. I thought someone gently pulled out the syringe again, but couldn't be sure.

Lying still was… boring. I had nothing to do, so in order to distract myself from feeling claustrophobic, I mentally hummed and sang a couple of my favorite songs in the hope to drift off to sleep faster. At one point, the music in my head became quite rhythmic and I had to strain myself to not tap my feet with the beat. Different to Mr. Hatchett's expectation, however, I didn't fall asleep. Quite the opposite; the longer I lay there, humming songs, the more alert I became, shooing away any drowsiness I had felt a little while ago. So I looked around with my eyes and studied the built of the tunnel from up close. Now and then there would be a clang when the spools were activated or shut off again. In an attempt to busy myself, I tried to find mathematical patterns in the built and noise to locate the spools. I couldn't be sure, but after a while I thought I knew the general directions from where the clanging came from. And another while later it started to feel like I could actually grasp the magnetic field, even though my logic told me that was impossible. I wasn't a magnet so I shouldn't be able to feel it, no matter how strong the field was. But with my body warming up in the magnetic field, it became tangible.

Usually, whenever I had nothing physical to do, time passed very slowly, sometimes even leaving the impression that the clock ran actually backwards. But today was different. Before I knew it, the hour was over, faster than I had thought. Also, I was bored out of my mind and fully awake despite having been sedated.

It was Dad who came up to my side this time. "Hey, hon, you okay? Everything's all right?"

Taking a deep breath in relief to no longer be inside the tight tunnel, I nodded. "Yeah. Only that I'd rather read or do something instead of lying around. I'd even study Spanish!"

He chuckled but seemed bewildered that I wasn't already asleep. He checked the sedative bag still hanging on the rack next to the scanner and then gave me another look. Deciding that he wouldn't solve this mystery, he shrugged and set to push another syringe into the crook of my arm. "If you're ready to voluntarily cram vocabulary into your head, then something must be way wrong," he joked, though his tone suggested that he had to strain himself to make it sound funny.

Where I hadn't felt Dad pushing in the needle, I felt him injecting whatever. Hissing, I closed my eyes while Dad rumbled an apology. Warmth then spread through my arm and onward through my body and surprisingly, I was able to trace it, felt where it went. It was really odd.

"What is that?" I asked, suppressing another hiss when the warmth grew even warmer. It felt like something inside me started to burn.

"It's the contrast agents." He checked my forehead and eyes with a worried expression on his face. "Are you all right, Chloe? You don't look well."

Smoothing out my face, I lied, "It's… all right. Just the sting from the syringe."

Dad looked like he knew I wasn't telling him the truth, but he apparently felt that I wanted to be over with the MRT, that I wanted to go home. Sighing in defeat, he eventually said, "All right. But you press the button if it gets too much, promise me."

"I promise, Dad." I even smiled and felt that it came out right.

Still looking like he'd rather do the opposite than pushing the bed back into the tunnel, he offered, "If you like, I can give you another ear protector with an inbuilt radio."

"No. I was singing inwardly the last hour. Going to sleep would be good. Then the time would pass more quickly."

He nodded. "Want more sedatives?" He eyed the bag, as did I. After a moment of hesitation, I nodded. Maybe this time it would work and I could go to sleep.

"I'm quite surprised you weren't knocked off right away when Hatchett sedated you an hour ago. The dose was quite high already and this sedative is a strong one to begin with. I just hope it works this time…" He trailed off.

The grogginess returned quickly and more pronounced than before. Closing my eyes while the bed was slowly pushed in again, I was ready to go to sleep right away. But something was different… and wrong. Just plain wrong. The warmth that had arisen with the contrast agents being injected and their dissemination afterward increased even more, bringing me to the brink of screaming out in pain. It felt like boiling hot water ran through my veins, fanning out from my chest. I clenched my teeth to remain silent, trying to not move. My thumb hovered precariously close over the button of the hand unit, but I didn't press it. And then, after what felt like an agonizingly long eternity, the warmth vanished and I could relax again. I found myself breathing harder and even my heart thumped heavily in my chest, like I'd just run the marathon in record time.

There was a little ringing sound, like a bell, then Dad's voice sounded inside the tunnel and over my ear protectors. "Chloe, is everything okay with you?"

Could I answer just like that? Opening my eyes, I studied the tunnel ceiling and noted that the magnet was already past my head. "Yes," I said, not knowing whether I needed to speak louder or not.

I waited for a moment, then Mr. Hatchett's voice sounded, "Are you absolutely certain? You promised you would press the button if something is wrong."

Refraining from huffing in annoyance, I said, "And I keep to my promise. As I didn't press it, I'm okay. Everything's fine."

I waited for some time, but there was no more response, so I went back to feeling bored. To pass the time, I returned to spotting the spools because restudying the tunnel's built wouldn't do any good. Quicker than before I started to feel the strong magnetic field again. Closing my eyes, I calmed my inner self and went to explore what exactly I could feel there. It was a weird sensation. Images of little protons and electrons crept up but flashed by as soon as I wanted to concentrate more on them. With the next spool clanging, I could have sworn I discerned the pull of the atoms within me toward the magnet. Concentrating on that finding, I anxiously awaited the next clang, and when it came, I felt the pull shifting. I smiled slightly; anyone else would have been scared out of their mind with such a discovery, but I felt comfortable. It was an odd sensation, that was for certain, but it felt good.

…

I must finally have drifted off to sleep, because the next I noticed was soft murmur reaching my ears. There was no clanging anymore, no noise from the MRT scanner. The bed I lay in was really soft and I was covered with an acclimated bed sheet. Through my closed eyes I noticed it was dark in the room. Turning my head toward the soft evening breeze, I felt the pillow I lay on. The ear protectors were gone, as was the hand unit. The soft sting in the crook of my arm told me I was getting an infusion, the cool liquor being periodically ingested into my system through the syringe.

The murmur grew more pronounced and I could discern Dad and Mr. Hatchett's voices. They seemed to argue over something. Dad was obviously in the defensive position while Mr. Hatchett spoke most of the time, talking at Dad animatedly; I could clearly visualize how he would gesture with his arms and hands. Smiling at the image, I strained to listen but could only understand snatches of their conversation.

Those had me frown though.

"I'm not sure we should…" That was Dad's voice.

"It's not a question of 'should' or 'could.' It _will_ happen. The only question is when. At the moment, they're dormant, but that can change – sooner than we might want it to. We therefore need to keep a constant eye on her."

"You already have Jack stationed. I don't need anyone else around. It's crazy enough as it is." Dad sounded tired and exhausted.

There was a snort. "He's hardly the most responsible one – and it wasn't me who stationed him there. I had been suggesting someone else, and it would be wiser to have them stay with you directly…"

"I dare you to," Dad challenged, sounding angry, all tiredness suddenly gone. "Besides, who should it be? Let me make one thing clear, Ratchet: If you ever send a twin in my direction, I _will_ find a way to offline them _and_ you."

There was some silence, then someone grumbled unintelligibly – but I thought I recognized Mr. Hatchett swearing. Footsteps retreated down the corridor while others slowly came over toward me. I turned my head and looked at Dad. "Hey," I mumbled sleepily.

"Hey yourself," he said back, sending me a smile. "You all right?" I nodded. "Good. Then I'll just finish my report so that we can go home, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed quietly. Dad reached out to touch my forehead and I felt close to drifting off again, but forced myself to stay awake for another moment. "Did the scans come up all right? Or is anything wrong with me?" I asked.

Dad pulled a stool close and sat down. "The scans came out fine. Don't worry."

I frowned. "Then why did you and Mr. Hatchett argue?"

Dad studied me for a second before answering, "It had nothing to do with you, hon. No need to worry about it."

I sighed. "From what I heard, it sounded like it was about… well, me."

He was silent for a while, his face unreadable, but I thought I knew what he was thinking. He was replaying the conversation in his mind for anything that would support my assumption. "You must have misunderstood something," he eventually said. "You're probably still groggy from the sedative."

It was rare that Dad would lie to me when I knew he wasn't telling the truth. We used to be so honest with each other. But I guess there were some things concerning his work that demanded he not tell the truth, even if it was me being affected. Seeing that I wasn't mentally able to solve that puzzle right now, I decided to leave it for another day. I merely nodded at him and closed my eyes. Despite him not having been honest with me, I knew I could trust Dad – because if I didn't trust him, who else was left?


	8. Matters of Time

**Author's Note:** This chapter came out totally different to what I had planned. I guess that characters or situations sometimes just take over and lead the story down another path than originally intended. I do believe, though, that the change was for the better. I hope you like this chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review.

Many thanks to everyone who sent feedback in form of reviews, story alerts and/or setting the story on their favorite list.

* * *

><p>– chapter seven –<p>

**Matters of Time**

The bell rang and ended our usual get-together during lunch. "See you tomorrow then," I said before heading out while Annabelle still packed together her Spanish book. My biology teacher had proven to hand out harsh punishments for any late-comers, even if you set foot into his classroom a mere second after the bell rang.

"Eh, actually, no…" Annabelle slowly said and made me stop.

"Oh?" I looked back at her. "But isn't tomorrow Thursday, a normal school day?"

"Yeah. But it's my birthday tomorrow and it's tradition in my family that I'm staying home for that."

"Oh," I mumbled surprised, feeling rather dumbstruck. _Darn!_ It was Annabelle's birthday and I didn't even have a present… "I had no idea…"

She looked a bit embarrassed. "I don't actually broadcast that, you know…"

I fully turned toward her while nodding understandingly. I myself had never been one to broadcast my birthday either. Attention was something I didn't welcome. "You're turning fifteen, right?"

"Yeah."

I sent her a smile. "Well then, see you on Friday. Have a nice party."

She grinned, shouldering her book bag. "Thanks. Have a nice Thursday."

Of course, once school was out, I headed to the store. Hopefully, I found something nice for Annabelle – only I had no idea what she preferred. The salesman knew her and could make a couple of suggestions, but something told me nothing he had on offer would really be good enough for Annabelle. So I went home with the intention to surf the internet for ideas. I wouldn't be able to order anything as the delivery would take ages; I needed the present for Friday already. But I hoped to get some ideas at least. Maybe the store had something similar on stock which I hadn't seen yet.

But no matter how many sites I browsed or how many various objects I looked at later that afternoon, nothing sparked an interest. There simply was nothing that screamed 'perfect.' Sighing in frustration, I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Hey, hon," Dad greeted me when he returned from work ten minutes later. "What are you doing?"

I was still staring at the ceiling. "Trying to find a present for Annabelle. It's her birthday tomorrow and I just can't find anything suitable."

"What about the store? Ordering anything from online will take too long."

"I know." I sighed heavily. "And I've already been to the store, right after school. There's nothing that fits." Moving, I sat upright again, only to fold my arms on the computer desk and to repeatedly knock my forehead against them.

"Mhmm…" Dad made, sounding pensive. I heard him trudge up the stairs, rummage around in the bedroom for a couple of minutes before coming down again. "Did you think of crafting something for her?"

I turned to look at him. "Yeah. But I can't find anything easy and quick enough to make _and_ fitting as a present. That's the entire problem, you know?"

Dad put something on the couch table. I stood and went to look at what he brought down from upstairs. It was a 'do it yourself'-calendar, with lots of space to fill the single months' pages with whatever caught your fancy. I looked back up at Dad and he explained, "Your mother used to design photo calendars every year, around Christmas, and when you were still quite little, you even helped. You won't remember as you stopped partaking in the activity when you were around five, but you nonetheless enjoyed the final product Mom put up on January first for years after. She still has a couple of empty ones, so maybe you'd like to design one for Annabelle?"

I pondered that. He was right, I didn't remember ever having done handicrafts on calendars, and I wasn't a handyman either these days, but it was at least a suggestion. "Any ideas for what to fill it with?" I mumbled, playing around with the empty calendar in my hands. Some themes ran through my head, but none was particularly easy to make. Even if I were able to do them, the end result wouldn't look good, I was sure. I tended to have two left hands where cutting and gluing was concerned.

Dad prompted, "Didn't you say something about having suggested telling her a bit about the states as she hasn't been to the continent that often yet? Why not find some pictures online, print them and then make a sort of photo collage?"

I mulled that idea over, and found I liked it. It was reasonably easy, and there were tons of beautiful pictures on the internet. Besides, it was something I could finish in the little time that was given to me. I just hoped the scissors were going to cooperate…

…

I was sort of nervous on Friday noon. The present sat – properly gift-wrapped – in my book bag, only waiting to be handed over. Dad (and Mom when she came home, surprised I was suddenly interested in making calendars) had helped and I really liked the end result. I just hoped Annabelle liked it too.

But she didn't come. I sat at our usual table, keeping the entrance in view, but she never entered the cafeteria. All her classmates were there, talking animatedly with each other, but my friend was missing. The only person taking interest in me was Cole Black, but I evaded him by getting up as soon as he had sat down at my table, deciding that I could spend the rest of lunch break in the classroom.

While taking my tray to the trash, I wondered whether or not to ask one of her classmates if they knew why Annabelle wasn't at school, but in the end, I chickened out. Well, I could only hope she was back on Monday so I could present my gift then.

She was, but when she entered the cafeteria, I noticed that she seemed unusually withdrawn and quiet. She joined me at our usual lunch table, but didn't offer more beyond a mumbled "Hi," before plopping on a chair.

I stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to do, before deciding to go ahead with my plan. Maybe it would take her mind off whatever troubled her. "Happy Birthday!" I therefore said, grabbed the present out of my book bag and slid it over the table toward her.

For a moment it seemed that Annabelle hadn't heard me for she didn't meet my eyes, but then she looked at me and the present. Sending me a very tiny smile, she mumbled, "Thanks," and proceeded to open the gift. I was anxious to know what she thought of it, but I got the impression my plan to distract her hadn't worked. She didn't seem to be in the mood to be reminded about her birthday – at all.

When the calendar lay open on the table, she flipped through the pages, looking at the pictures with interest. The tiny smile grew a little, but it still wasn't the happy, carefree one I was used to by her. "Thanks, Chloe," Annabelle said after having leafed through all twelve months' pages. "This is really beautiful. I like it." Her voice was even, but there was no… enthusiasm behind the words. Like she didn't feel what she was saying. Annabelle usually was full of energy, but today she sounded rather… dull.

I bit my lip worriedly. Maybe a calendar hadn't been a good idea…

Annabelle shook her head. "No, no!" she said, some of her usual passion returning. Had I spoken out loud? Before I could continue the thought, she reached across the table and took my hand to squeeze it once. "I _really_ like it," she said. "It's beautiful and I already know where to put it."

I gave her a small smile, feeling myself a little… unenthusiastic all of a sudden. The situation was certainly not one I liked being in. Wanting to steer the situation to safer waters, I decided to let it go and just nodded at her.

We ate in silence for a moment, but Annabelle seemed to notice that her earlier listless response toward my gift had hurt me a little. She therefore repeatedly told me what a wonderful idea the calendar had been and flipped through the pages, asking me about some of the pictures I had chosen. But even though she in the end had steered us away from awkwardness, I still noticed that her enthusiasm was kind of… faked. Even if she really meant what she said, I still felt a little disappointed. But that notion quickly was replaced with worry. Annabelle's entire behavior wasn't what I would call uplifting, and her poking in her pasta rather than eating it only added to my suspicions. Was she ill? Sighing inwardly and pondering of what to do now, I in the end did nothing but sit there, giving Annabelle silent company when I wasn't answering one of her questions on the pictures. Maybe that was what she needed – and wanted. And it was something I was a specialist in.

But my friend's behavior didn't change much over the next week and even the week after that. Certainly, we always talked over lunch and she was laughing once in a while, but it all still felt… false. Like Annabelle needed to force herself to act happy rather than to just be it. I couldn't understand why she would have changed so suddenly. Had something bad happened on her birthday? I never asked her though, and she wouldn't volunteer anything of her own either. I did offer Dad looking her over if she felt ill. Annabelle was baffled at first, but then she softly said, "Thanks, but it's nothing your father could heal." Not being one to pry for information if the other didn't volunteer it, I let her be and just continued giving her my silent company.

The one good thing with Annabelle's darker mood was that Cole stayed away from us the entire time.

…

It was Monday, very early in the morning – middle of the night would fit better – when there was a call from the hospital. Dad was needed immediately. Mom and I were awake now too, and no matter what we did, we couldn't go back to sleep for the remaining hours. However, that didn't mean I wasn't tired when it was time to go to school. I had trouble following the classes and actually nearly fell asleep over lunch.

Annabelle shook me awake. "Wake up, Chloe. You nearly drowned your hair in the soup."

I blinked, feeling like an owl, slowly sat up straight again and unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. I thought I needed to catch a nap in the afternoon once school was out.

Annabelle kept talking to keep me busy and alert. "What did you do? Another late-night session of watching TV?"

I shook my head, sipping some of my soup. "Dad got an emergency call very early this morning. I couldn't go back to sleep afterward."

"Ouch." She grimaced before giving me a sympathetic smile. "I know what that feels like. Dad sometimes gets called out at night. Thankfully, there were only two of such occasions before Mom asked Dad to take the phone to bed and to set it to vibration rather than have it ring. It's only Mom now who notices when he's called to the base."

I nodded thoughtfully. "I'll suggest that to Mom and Dad. It would be an improvement for me at least."

"Indeed," Annabelle agreed.

Neither Dad nor Mom was home yet when I came back from school. I quickly did my chores before taking my nap, but I never got around to it. The phone rang when I was just about to sit down on the couch. Sighing, I got up again and took the call. "Hello?"

"Hey, hon, Dad here." I frowned, pressing the receiver tighter against my ear and listening closely; Dad was speaking rather quietly and he also sounded quite tired. "We have a situation here and need all hands we can get. Tell your mother I just got another shift and therefore will not be home for dinner."

That sounded really serious. "Is everything okay, Dad?" I asked, meaning not only him but his patients too.

He sighed. "As okay as the situation allows." He paused; in the background, I could hear a voice on the announcement channel. When he spoke again, there was urgency in his voice and he sounded slightly more awake. "I need to go, honey. They're already looking for me. I see you later."

"'Kay. Bye, Dad." But he had already hung up.

I didn't see Dad at all that evening, and when I woke up around three in the morning for a bathroom tour, he had still not come home. He was back the next morning, though, when I came down for breakfast shortly after six. He stood in the kitchen, at the basin, filling himself a glass of water. "Hey, hon," he greeted when he saw me. He sounded and looked extremely worn-out. He was pale and had dark rings under his eyes. I wondered how he still managed to be on his feet when looking like he would pass out any moment.

"Hey, Dad." I walked over to him and gave him a brief but tight hug before giving him some space again. I proceeded on toward the fridge to get myself toast, marmalade and some juice. "Why are you up already?" I asked while looking for a knife.

He snorted softly into his glass. "I haven't been to bed yet, Chloe. I just came home, about ten minutes ago." He sank onto his usual chair at the kitchen table with a notably deep sigh.

I turned toward him and raised my eyebrows in incredulity, the glass I had been about to fill with orange juice forgotten on the counter next to me. "Is… everything all right at the hospital?" I carefully asked. Dad usually didn't want to talk about his job when he had pulled double or triple shifts before he had had the chance to catch up on sleep.

He sighed wearily and rubbed his tired eyes with his hands. He mumbled, "By now? Yeah. No one died during the night and everyone seemed on the path to recovery when I left."

I let that sink in while waiting for my toast. "There was an attack, wasn't there?" I asked quietly, staring in Dad's direction. I guess in my heart I already knew the answer. Dad wouldn't have been needed at the hospital this urgently and for more than twenty-four hours in one go if there hadn't.

He didn't answer for a long time. Eventually, though, he nodded slowly. "Not really. Then again, yeah, you could say so."

I took my toast once it was done, sat down next to him and frowned at his very confusing answer.

He chuckled briefly, humorlessly. "Well, it wasn't really an attack. If anything, our troops have attacked. But we suffered more wounded."

"Casualties?" I asked, shocked.

He quickly shook his head. "No. Thank God, no. No one died, and if… Hatchett is right, no one will die. So we're good."

"But the injuries have been severe enough," I said quietly, not finishing the sentence with 'to last you for the rest of your life.'

He nodded, his gaze sad and distant, like he understood the non-spoken words. "Yes."

We sat in silence then, me slowly nibbling on my toast while he stared into his glass of water. That lasted for a long time, so when he spoke up, it came as a surprise.

"War is ugly, Chloe, no matter which. There will always be death and destruction, injuries to body and soul. The former we can heal, but it's the pain of the latter that will let you see the true horrors of war, when you see friends dying. Whether it's only one or a hundred of them, doesn't matter. To witness death… I never wish it to anyone, but I'm helpless when it takes the patient from me."

I fought the tears. Dad certainly had had a fair share of rough times and seen death several times. But never before had I heard him talk like that or seen him be so miserable. He sounded sort of lifeless, as if he was at the end of his wits. Had yesterday been the straw to break him?

I gently put my hand on his and reminded him, "Dad, no one died last night. They'll live. You did your job and saved them all." I put as much strength into my voice as possible. He needed me to be the strong one now, to console him – even if he would never admit it. I was just a kid after all. But if my father was in need of me being strong for him, I would do that, no matter the cost.

He gave my hand a long look before meeting my eyes. A small smile flitted my way. "Thanks, Chloe," he mumbled. He then stood. "I'm going to bed. See you this afternoon after school." And with that, he trudged up the stairs.

Mom came into the kitchen not a moment later, her expression worried. I knew she had seen Dad, maybe even overheard our conversation. She didn't say anything while fixing herself something to eat. I quickly finished with my breakfast and then got ready for school.

I rode with Mom in the car. The first minute was passed in silence, but then I said, "Dad looked horrible this morning."

"I know," she said quietly. "I've seen him when he went to bed."

"You heard us talk, too, didn't you?" I asked. I wasn't accusing her. The conversation had hardly been a private one.

When Mom nodded, but didn't speak, I asked another question I had had on my mind. "Mom, can… can you tell me what happened? I want to understand what Dad meant." When I received a puzzled look, I repeated what Dad had told me this morning.

Understanding crossed Mom's expression, but her smile was sad. "Unfortunately, I can't tell you, Chloe. It pertains to our work and that is classified information. You don't have clearance for that."

I sighed, having expected her answer; it still was a disappointment.

"Suffice to say," Mom continued after another moment, "it was bad enough for it to take such a toll on him. It's only the second time I've seen him like that. Usually, your father can cope with it much better than like this time."

"Will Dad be okay?"

"I think so, honey." After a pause, she quietly added, "Eventually."

I played with my book bag's strap in my lap. "What I don't understand is why he became a physician if it's so hard on him."

The car stopped and I realized we'd arrived at school. Mom killed the engine and turned toward me. With a warm smile, she explained, "It's his mission. He wants to help people."

"What do you mean?"

The smile turned sad. "Well, war is horrible to people, Chloe. It takes people's lives, destroys homes and hopes, leaves scars on souls and bleeding hearts. And if it goes on for a very long time… I can't begin to imagine the emotional turmoil people go through – and frankly, I don't want to. The time I spent at the front, doing active service at the weapon, was enough to last me a lifetime."

I blinked; was I just having a déjà-vu? Mom sounded like Dad, nearly even using the exact same words he had. And somehow, I couldn't shake off the feeling that neither Mom nor Dad were talking about any of the wars going on at the moment or one they had experienced themselves.

"It's especially loss that cuts deep," Mom added quietly after another moment. "But your father can – and wants to – help heal those that suffered from such wounds. Though, sometimes, it becomes too much for him."

"Like last night," I concluded.

"Yes." She nodded.

We sat in silence for another minute, then I got out. "Thanks, Mom," I said, even though my mind was still full of unanswered questions. I doubted I would get answers anytime soon though. "See you tonight."

…

Much to my joy (and distraction from my own borderline depressive thoughts), Annabelle was back to normal – or as normal as a teenage girl could be when seemingly being elsewhere with her thoughts most of the time. But I wouldn't complain. Her mood had improved a lot and she was no longer subdued and withdrawn. Quite the contrary; she was impressively squirrelly throughout the lunch break, as if she couldn't wait for school to be over to be somewhere. Had something occurred? Was her father injured? I couldn't recall Dad having said something about Colonel Lennox being among the wounded; then again, Dad never told me who his patients were. Also, Annabelle's jumpiness wasn't of the negative kind.

At least not too negative, I thought wryly, when watching her nearly jump out of her chair for about a mile when one of the girls having sat at the table behind Annabelle accidentally brushed against her back when leaving. When Cole then approached from behind Annabelle, he scared the hell out of her when he suddenly spoke over her head. (In return, he received a hard smack and the barked order to leave us alone if he didn't want to end up in the scrapheap anytime soon. That did the trick, at least for today.)

"Any plans for the weekend?" I queried as soon as Cole had retreated, mainly to keep Annabelle's mind off whatever was making her so fidgety.

She sighed. "Not sure yet. Depends."

I slowly chewed on a potato. "On what? Did your father get hurt?" I asked. "Are you going to visit him at the weekend when he's still in the hospital then?"

Annabelle looked up, surprised. "What? Oh, no! No," she said, correcting my false conclusion. "Dad's totally fine. It's… his friend, Aaron Hyde, he got hurt. But Hatchett is treating him and says he'll be fine eventually. He just… he's still unconscious, you know?" She sighed and poked her potatoes listlessly. "I just wish he would come around already. I worry about him…"

I reached across the table and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "If Mr. Hatchett looks out for Mr. Hyde, I'm sure he'll be up and about in no time." When our gazes met, I sent her a warm smile.

She returned it shyly. "You sure?"

I nodded. "Yes. Mr. Hatchett is a good doctor. Whenever Dad spoke about him, it was always only praising words."

This time, her smile was heart-felt. "I know," she said softly. "He's been my family's doctor for as long as I can remember and had always been right with his prognoses."

I nodded again. "So stop moping and smile. Mr. Hyde wouldn't want you to be sad, especially when he's going to be all right soon anyway."

A grin spread across her face, like she found humor in my statement that went in another direction as intended – which ultimately confused me. To seemingly appease me, she suggested, "So, once Mr. Hyde's out and about again, do you want to go on a little adventure trip with me?"

…

The adventure trip took place the weekend after the next. Annabelle hadn't been in the right state of mind to do anything with me any earlier (even though on Friday afternoon she called to report that Mr. Hyde had woken up and was recovering splendidly). I didn't mind, seeing that he was one of the people she grew up with and therefore someone she cared lots about. I wanted him to be completely healed and her to find the peace of mind before allowing Annabelle to 'kidnap' me for the promised adventure trip.

And we wouldn't be going alone.

As promised, Annabelle fetched me from home, but the sight that greeted me when stepping out of the house was one I hadn't expected. On the curb right next to the driveway stood two motorcycles. One was blue, the other pink. Two familiar women leaned against them, watching me with intent blue eyes.

"You remember Mia and R.C., right?" Annabelle asked brightly when we walked toward them. Sensing my surprised hesitation, she took my hand and pulled me up to her father's co-workers.

"Of course," I mumbled. Before I knew it, I was shaking hands with Miss R.C. and Miss Mia. Both women smiled at me, their handshakes firm. I couldn't shake of the feeling that their intent gazes of earlier had been to size me up, however.

"You don't mind that they're coming with us, do you? We won't have a means to get there otherwise," Annabelle said.

She gave me the opportunity to back out, but I didn't want to. It was just a little trip on this island, and I trusted Colonel Lennox's co-workers. There was no reason to be afraid of them. When I first met them at Mrs. Epps' birthday party, they had been perfectly nice to me. "Of course I don't," I therefore said, smiling. Annabelle grinned back at me.

Since my friend was riding with Miss R.C., I was left to ride with Miss Mia. I didn't mind that arrangement either. Miss Mia even let me choose which helmet to wear. "Blue or black?" she asked, holding both out for me to inspect.

Making a decision was quite easy. "The black one looks awesome and I'd take it any time, but because of it being blazingly hot, I'd prefer the blue one today. I don't want to end up being roasted when the black helmet heats up too much."

Miss Mia grinned brightly at my answer; it seemed I had just won a piece of her heart.

Annabelle hadn't told me where we were going for our little adventure trip. It therefore came as a little surprise when Miss R.C. and Miss Mia took us all the way south, around the u-bend and then back up north. Had Annabelle discovered a secluded beach somewhere on the east arm of the island? She had said something about taking a swimsuit, but also to be clad in comfortable clothes for a little hiking tour. So maybe we would hike through the jungle to reach that mysterious beach.

We stopped in front of ruins, however, just a little off the road, about halfway up the island's east arm.

It must have been several buildings from the way the ruins were located. Some were still discernable as former houses. I thought I even recognized the distinct architectural built of a farm house like the Spanish and French use to build them. What appeared to have once been a road of sorts was still visible throughout the outgrowth, but in most places, the looming jungle slowly but steadily reclaimed what human population had once seized.

"Is that the old settlement?" I asked no one in particular. "The old coconut plantation?"

Annabelle who was close-by nodded, bending down to sniff at one of the orchids growing everywhere. "Yes. It's sad, isn't it? People have to move so that others can tear down what was built over generations."

"Yeah…"

I caught sight of Miss Mia slowly walking around a shattered wall, her hands gently – almost reverently – touching the crumbling bricking. "I wonder what that must have felt like," she said softly, like she didn't want to wake old spirits that could have stayed behind. _Was she religious?_ I wondered absent-mindedly while my thoughts wandered their own paths.

Miss R.C. snorted softly. "You know how relocation feels like," she said.

Miss Mia glanced back at her sister and both their eyes met. They regarded each other for a while, looking like they somehow communicated with each other. It was odd to watch it, but also nice as it showed how close they were that they understood each other without words.

However, I had to look away after a while when the sensation of loneliness suddenly washed over me. It was moments like these that I wished I had a sister or brother to be close to, to talk to about my fears and worries. Certainly, Mom and Dad were great listeners and cared for me, but sometimes, there were things I just couldn't tell them, because I knew they would freak out or turn overprotective. Like with the strange changes within me that I felt ever since waking up in the hospital. A brother or sister to confide to would make matters easier in such cases. They would be more understanding of my problems, I thought.

A gentle hand on my shoulder made me look up. "You all right?" Annabelle softly ventured.

My eyes searched the vicinity, and I found Miss Mia and Miss R.C. having walked on, their laughter flowing back over the wind. My heart clenched at the sight of their sisterly love. With such display of what I would never have, could I consider myself being all right? "I think so," I mumbled quietly.

Annabelle didn't comment my answer, only squeezed my shoulder in silent support. She then took my hand and started pulling me after Miss Mia and Miss R.C. "Let's go swimming," she said, changing the topic. "The beach down here is supposed to be amazing."

I gave her a smile and followed willingly, banning the depressing thoughts for now.

Upon arriving at the beach, I couldn't help myself. "Incredible." Annabelle had been right; the sand was really soft and comfortably warm, and the lagoon's turquoise water was the epitome of the South Seas. The palm trees offered enough shade to get out of the midday sun. The location was the perfect place for a peaceful get-away.

Miss R.C. unpacked the rucksack she had taken with her, revealing two picnic blankets. We quickly spread them out before slipping out of our shirts and trousers. Apparently, everyone had had the same idea as I and already wore their bikinis beneath their clothes.

Running into the water, we took great care to splash each other before teaming up for a little splashing war. Miss Mia and Miss R.C. together were a formidable opponent, leaving Annabelle and me squealing loudly when the sisters sort of drowned us with their attacks. The game reminded me of Mrs. Epps' birthday party, but without Mom to berate me (seeing that I was in a bathing suit this time) and with the Christiansen sisters as company (even though they literally kicked our butts), I could fully enjoy my time without fearing the consequences. At some point, my stomach started to hurt, but not from the tons of salt water I swallowed. It hurt from laughing so much.

Later, when we got hungry, we sat in the shadow of the palms and ate the sandwiches Mrs. Lennox had made. She seemed to be an excellent cook as her home-made crème fraîche was the most delicious thing I ever tasted. Annabelle and Miss Mia then stretched out for a little sun-bathing while I pulled out my Spanish book for a little reading. Maybe studying while relaxing helped more than trying to cram vocabulary into my head in the evenings.

"Annabelle said you could need a little help with Spanish," Miss R.C. was suddenly saying, pointing to the book in my lap.

Looking over at her, surprised at being addressed, I could only stammer. "Um… well…"

Sitting back and leaning onto her forearms, Miss R.C. smiled warmly. "I know a bit Spanish, at least enough for what you learn at school. I could tutor you if you like. Don't feel obliged to agree, however, if you rather wouldn't. I don't mind."

I was baffled to receive such an offer. "That's really… considerate of you. Thanks." I looked back down at my book and thought it over. "Thing is, my teacher already offered tutoring me after school," I told Miss R.C. after a moment. "I mean, she got probably loads of other stuff to do and tutoring me will take up her free time. I don't want to rob you of yours either, though…"

"Nah," Miss R.C. replied. "I can juggle tutor sessions around my shifts, no prob."

I looked back at her. "You'd really do that? For me? We hardly know each other."

She grinned good-naturedly. "A friend of Annabelle's is my friend too. And friends help each other out."

A smile spread on my face. "Thank you," I said, feeling extremely grateful from the bottom of my heart.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Annabelle and Miss Mia grin at each other.

I might never have a sibling to be close to, but it was great to know that I had friends.


	9. The Arrival of Peace

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who set the story to favorite or alert. And much thanks to all who reviewed. :) However, my muse is currently corrupted by a glitch called "death". Reviews are the energon to bring her back to life. ;)

Now enjoy the next instalment of "Lyra" (which had been written before the above-mentioned glitch nested in muse's systems).

* * *

><p>– chapter eight –<p>

**The Arrival of Peace**

I woke up to loud noises coming from the bathroom on Monday morning.

Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was still too early for me to get up, so I intended to snuggle back into my warm and soft bed, but the noises didn't vanish like I had hoped they would. Not finding any peace like that, I got up and went to look.

I found my mom in the bathroom, cowering on the floor, her forehead leaned against the toilet. She looked pale and sweaty.

"Mom?" I said, suddenly fully alert and worrying. "What happened? Shall I call Dad?"

I was about to turn and sprint down the stairs to make the call, but Mom held me back. "No need. That's… I'm fine, darling."

Turning back toward her, I gave her a doubting look. My mom looked anything but fine. Her nightdress was clenched with sweat, her hair was a total mess and her eyes had a fevered brilliance. I thought she was getting ill.

"Mom, you don't look fine. Let me call Dad. He'll be able to help you."

She shook her head and slowly got to her feet, using the sink and toilet to steady herself. She managed to stand without falling over, but I saw how heavily she was shaking from the physical strain. "I'm fine, honey. We don't have to worry your father over nothing. Okay? Now, why don't you go back to bed? It can't be seven already."

"It's not even six yet," I retorted in a mumble. I very much wanted to curl back up beneath my bed sheet and sleep the remaining hour, but I was wide awake now. Even if I had been able to fall asleep again, the one hour would do me more harm than good. Besides, I couldn't leave my mom fend for herself looking like that. She needed me now. "I'm here and I'll stay here," I told her fiercely. "You should sit down before you fall, Mom. Really, you look… horrible."

She snorted but sat down on the stool she pulled out from beneath the sink. "You're one to talk, Chloe." Her eyes glittered with humor, but the feverish gleam was still there.

I threw a quick glance into the mirror above the sink; Mom was right – my hair was a mess and I had slight rings beneath my eyes. Well, it was nothing a comb and make-up wouldn't undo. And I still had some time before I had to go to school.

Remembering my mom, I asked, "Do you want anything? Water? Coffee? Breakfast?"

She grimaced on the last word, but said, "A glass of water would be nice."

After having brought her the glass, I helped her back into the bedroom. She sat down onto the bed and sighed. "I'm sorry for having woken you, hon," she said.

I shrugged while looking for a clean nightdress. "It's okay, Mom, don't worry about it. Here, take this. I'll put the dirty one into the laundry."

Mom smiled. "Thanks."

"Shall I bring the phone with me?"

She gave me a confused look. "Why?"

Rolling my eyes exasperatedly, I said, "Because you need to phone someone and say that you're ill. You can't go to work like that."

Now it was her giving me an exasperated look. "Honey, it's just six-thirty in the morning. There's still plenty of time for me to get ready for work." I opened my mouth to argue with her, but she held up a hand. "And yes, I am going to work. I won't call in that I'm ill."

"But…" I started to protest.

"No but," Mom retorted. "I'm fine and I'm going to work. Now get out of here and ready yourself. You have school in an hour."

All right, if Mom wanted to endanger her health, it was her problem. But I was going to make sure she would get to work and back home safely. After I had disposed of Mom's dirty nightdress, I grabbed the phone, went into the kitchen and called Annabelle for help.

…

Mom looked better by the time we left the house. I wouldn't say she was back to her usual energetic self, but she didn't show any signs of what happened this morning.

I was the first to step outside. As Annabelle had promised, the black pick-up sat in front of our house, my friend standing next to the passenger door. Her book bag hung from one shoulder, the rucksack with the clothes for gym was strapped over the other one. "Good morning, Mrs. Roberts," she greeted brightly when my mom turned around after having locked the door and immediately stopped dead in her tracks upon the sight on the curb. "Morning, Chloe."

"To you too," I returned, grinning inwardly. I had trouble keeping a straight face. After having called my friend, telling her the situation, Annabelle had agreed to ask her father to pick Mom up and drive with her to work. He was Mom's superior, but he was nice and looked out after the well-being of his people.

As if on cue, Colonel Lennox walked around the truck. "Good morning, Private," he greeted Mom.

Shell-shocked, Mom stared at all three of us for a moment – she probably guessed it was a conspiracy made by me; after all, she knew me quite well – before snapping to attention and saluting to Colonel Lennox. "Good morning, sir."

He nodded. "At ease, Private." Looking at me walking up to Annabelle, he then said, "Good morning, Chloe."

"Morning, Mr. Lennox."

Turning his attention back to Mom, he explained, "Annabelle told me she and Chloe have gym together this morning so they wanted to walk there – as a sort of warm-up. Seeing that I'm here already I thought I could give you a ride to work." I didn't know what exactly Annabelle had told her father, but he was playing along well. His face was perfectly smooth and didn't betray anything but politeness from officer to personnel.

"What?" Mom blurted out in surprise. Then she hurried to add, "Thanks, sir, but I don't want to impose on you."

"You aren't imposing, Private. Like I said, I was here already." He shrugged and went to open the passenger door, politely gesturing her inside.

Annabelle took that as her cue to say goodbye to her father. "See you tonight, Dad." She hugged him briefly.

"Have a nice day, darling." Returning the hug, he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Mom will fetch you in the afternoon."

"Okay. Enjoy work." She grinned, then stood on the sidewalk down the street to school, waiting for me.

"See you later, Mom," I quickly said and hurriedly joined Annabelle.

But before we could take another step, Mom held me back. "We're gonna have a talk about this tonight, Chloe," she told me in a fierce whisper, adding a glare. But then – finally! – she got into the truck with Colonel Lennox. They drove off and vanished behind the next corner pretty quickly. When I looked at Annabelle, our eyes met and we both burst out laughing.

"You know," she said between giggles once we were on our way, "you really are a femme fatale."

Acting aggrieved, I inhaled sharply and put a hand over my heart. "I'm wounded, Annabelle Lennox. How can you accuse me of such a bad thing?"

She snorted. "Well," she drawled, "for one, you purposefully lured your own mother into the clutches of G.I. Joe."

I sobered a little and gave her a sidelong glance. "G.I. Joe? You really call your father that?" I was astonished. So far I had gotten the impression that Annabelle and her father got along really well and were more than just father and daughter, something like best friends.

She laughed. "Not to his face, no. But really, I often have the impression he is an action hero more than a normal man. I mean, just look at how often he vanishes in the middle of the night to sa—" She broke off mid-sentence, biting her lip and glancing at me. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that," she mumbled eventually and averted her eyes.

To say I was confused was the understatement of the year. "You didn't say anything – at least nothing I could make sense of."

Breathing a sigh of relief before giving me a small smile, she changed the topic. "Let's hurry or we'll be too late for school."

We didn't speak much afterward and I wondered what that had been about.

…

Dad and I were already at home when the black pick-up stopped in front of the house later in the afternoon. I glanced through the window and saw Colonel Lennox help my mom out of the passenger seat. They were talking a bit, then Mom walked up to the house while Colonel Lennox drove off. Returning to my homework as a charade, I strained to listen.

Mom put the keys onto the commode in the hall, then – before even saying "Hello" or "I'm back home" – she called, "Chloe!" _Uh-oh!_ She sounded pissed.

Dad poked his head through the kitchen door. "Hi, darling." From where I sat on the floor next to the couch in the living room I saw him trying to give her a peck, but she denied him, instead turning toward me once she had discovered me. She stalked into the living room and stood next to the armchair, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Explain yourself."

I looked down. "Don't know what you mean," I mumbled.

"I'm talking to you so look at me, young lady," she ordered curtly. Doing as she asked and catching Dad's confused expression as he glanced from Mom to me, I met her eyes. They were ablaze in fury. "What in God's name were you thinking? He's my superior, for Heaven's sake. You can't just go ringing his bell and ask him to be my chauffeur!" Her tone had risen until she was nearly shouting at me.

Dad tried to calm her. "Darling, please, calm down. It can't be good for you shouting at Chloe like that." But Mom only gave him a sour glare so he backed away again.

Well, having both parents in the military was never easy. I was sure that once Dad knew what I had done this morning, he would side with Mom. They always sided with each other.

Getting up from the floor, I sat on the couch, avoiding Mom's eyes again. "I was worrying about you so I asked Annabelle if her mother could give you a ride. I had no idea her father would pick you up." It wasn't the entire truth, but how was the saying? Ignorance is bliss.

"Wait a second," Dad interjected before Mom could shout at me again. "Colonel Lennox drove you to work?"

"And back!" Mom hissed. "Your daughter thought she would do me a favor, but it wasn't a favor. It was embarrassing!"

I frowned in confusion. "Why is it embarrassing for him to give you a ride?"

"Because he's my commanding officer, that's why! And subordinates and commanding officers don't mix like that."

"But Dad said we only moved here and that's different to the people living here already for several years," I returned, remembering the talk he and I had had the night after my first day at school.

Dad sat down on the armchair's armrest, leaning toward me. "That was only in regard to you, Chloe," he explained gently. "You didn't grow up here and don't have the same military upbringing the kids of the soldiers and officers working on the base have. These kids had the respect resulting from ranks ingrained with their mothers' milk. But you grew up stateside among civilians so the inherited rank-respect doesn't apply to you – yet. But your mother works at the base. It's different to her than it is for you. She can't just go and talk smack with Colonel Lennox during working hours like you can go and befriend his daughter at school. Can you understand that?"

And the siding had already begun. "Yes," I admitted grudgingly.

"Look, I'm sure your Mom would have appreciated the gesture any other day, had we been still in D.C." Mom huffed but didn't interrupt him otherwise. "But here it doesn't work that simply."

I sighed and turned to Mom. "I'm sorry. I only meant to help."

Dad smiled in satisfaction, but Mom wasn't done with her anger yet. However, sensing she would explode again any moment, he stood and took her into his arms. "How's your day been, darling?" he asked.

I took that as my chance; grabbing my school books and stuff, I fled the living room and bolted up the stairs to hide in my room. Better let him calm her down and face her again later – like for dinner. I hoped one hour would be enough for her to chill. I refocused on my physics homework.

There was a knock on my door half an hour later. Wondering who it could be, I called, "Come in." It was Dad.

He took the chair from my desk – I sat cross-legged on the bed, my books and pens surrounding me – and asked, "So why did you organize a transport for her in the first place?"

Sighing, I answered, "She didn't seem well this morning." Dad raised his eyebrows. "She was in the bathroom and puking – I _think_," I hurriedly added when his expression grew worried. "She sat on the tiles and looked like she had caught a fever. But when I wanted to fetch the phone for her to call in ill, she said she's fine and she'd go to work."

Dad was pensive, looking at me without seeing me I thought. "Had she been like this on another day?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's the first time I've seen her like this. I woke up from her making noise in the bathroom."

He nodded, his expression still pensive. "Okay. Well, don't worry about it. I've got it covered. However, please, no more scheming behind her back, all right?"

"'kay," I murmured when he left my room again.

Dinner was subdued. No one spoke. Dad had tried to make conversation, but as neither Mom nor I were volunteering any topics, he had eventually fallen silent again. So the only sounds being made were the cutlery on the plates. Once we were finished, I asked to go to my room. As Mom didn't answer, Dad nodded.

Before I shut the door behind me, I heard Dad ask Mom, "Chloe said she found you in the bathroom this morning. Seemingly feeling queasy. She wasn't sure whether or not you even threw up."

"So?" Mom shot back defensively. Her tone suggested she was still angry.

"So I wondered whether or not you are becoming ill, Linda – or if you are expecting."

It was so quiet I could have heard a pin drop. Then Mom sighed and sank onto a chair; it scraped a little across the floor. "I should have known that you as a physician will interpret the signs correctly."

_Wait, what?_ my mind screamed at me. _Mom's pregnant?_

There was another scraping when Dad grabbed another chair. "How far along are you?"

"Not sure, but I think somewhere between two and four months."

Dad groaned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

There was a pause. "You don't want the child." It wasn't a question. I was shocked to hear Mom calmly state that Dad didn't want another child – and for a long moment, he didn't even make an attempt at defense!

After what felt like eternity, Dad apparently stood and started pacing. "You know that's not true," he said quite lamely. "But you know what happened the last three times."

"And you think that forbids me to become pregnant once more?" Mom's anger flared up again.

"I damn well nearly lost you the last time!" he practically shouted at her. "And you promised you wouldn't leave me alone with Chloe. How the hell am I going to take care of her if I'm on my own?"

"She's old enough to take care of herself. She doesn't need constant chaperoning anymore – neither from me nor from you."

"She's just fourteen," Dad shot back.

"The same age my great-great-grandma had her first child."

"We live in the twenty-first century, not the middle ages. She's still a kid."

"Old enough to be abducted. Old enough to leave us. She won't be with us for the rest of her life." Mom's voice broke at the end and she started crying.

Dad stopped his pacing. "Is that the only reason why you want another baby now?" he asked.

Sobbing wafted up the stairs. "Of course not!" Mom choked out. "But who will be there when she's gone?" She cried harder.

Dad seemed to walk back to Mom and sit down next to her. "Listen to me, Linda," he urged but speaking softly, his voice nearly inaudible. "They don't think it'll happen anytime soon. She still has time. So don't make a rush decision now and endanger yourself. Chloe will leave us in a few years anyway. And what am I going to do with a baby when you are gone? I can't take care of a child myself."

Whatever Mom answered went lost in-between sobs and sniffles. Besides, I didn't want to hear more anymore. Quietly closing the door behind me, I went into my room and lay down on my bed, fully clothed. So Mom was having a baby and Dad didn't want her to – not because he didn't want another child, but because he thought Mom would die because of it. And what did he say, it happened already before, that she lost a baby? I would have to ask him at one point. I had never known.

Lying in a sort of trance, I wasn't able to fall asleep for a long time. Eventually, I gave up trying. I glanced at my alarm; it was past midnight. I listened for a moment, but the house was quiet. So I decided to sneak down the stairs to get me a glass of milk. I nearly had a heart attack, though, when I closed the fridge again, not without catching sight of Dad sitting in the corner, his face partly illuminated by the light of the fridge. Putting a hand over my heart, I exhaled. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he mumbled tonelessly and gestured to the chair across from him.

I slowly sat down, eyeing him worriedly. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" I asked. "I thought you had the morning shift."

He nodded and sighed. "I do. But I won't find sleep tonight."

Sipping from my glass, I asked, "Why? Is it because Mom's pregnant?" He nodded again. "And you don't want the child." I could have slapped myself; I hadn't meant for it to come out as an accusation but a question.

Dad didn't react for a while and I thought he'd fallen asleep; his gaze was completely blank. He was staring at me but didn't seem to notice me. I had my mind half-set on going back to bed and try to fall asleep again, but stopped when he started to speak.

"Your mother lost three babies in various phases of development. You were still a small child back then. The last miscarriage happened when you were just nine. I believe she lost the child because of the shock of your grandfather's death."

I remembered the day as if it were yesterday. It had been only a few days after my ninth birthday. Grandpa had been at my party, looking extremely fit and healthy. He had carried me on his shoulders and played airplane with me, my favorite game with him. But about a week later, from one day to the next, he had died all of a sudden. There had been no chance to help him. Mom had been heartbroken and spent some days in the hospital. I had always thought it had been due to a mental breakdown, but no idea it was because she lost a child. I hadn't even known she had been pregnant with a little brother or sister for me.

Continuing in the same dead voice, Dad said, "With the last miscarriage, she lost a lot of blood. We nearly lost her too. The doctor had back then said that if she ever attempted another pregnancy and would lose the child again, the chances she'll survive will be less than thirty percent." He sighed. "That you came to be born alive and healthy was a miracle already. Before we had you, she had already lost a boy in her seventh month, and before that we had tried for several years for a baby. She just wasn't meant to have children, but she desperately wanted some."

I had never before seen my dad cry, but there were tears streaming down his cheeks in silence while he continued, "I don't want to lose her. I wouldn't be able to bear it. And after we nearly lost you last summer…"

Not knowing what to do, I quickly stood up and crouched down next to him, taking his hand and pressing it against my cheek. "I'm here, Dad. And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. I promise."

…

Dad rearranged for his shift to not start before Mom had left the house so he could drive her to and from work. He also talked her into getting an ultrasound to make sure she and the baby were fine. Mom at first argued about everything, but eventually she relented. She was still furious about it, but oddly, she never lashed out at us. It was confusing.

When I asked Dad about her silent seething, he said, "Let's just say she's gotten an earful of someone you absolutely don't want to mess with." He couldn't make it anymore cryptic I thought, but Dad didn't give any more explanations, no matter how often I pestered him.

The first appointment Mom got was while I was at school so I couldn't go with her and Dad to the hospital. But in the evening she told me everything was all right and I needn't worry; it was enough to have everyone else look out for her. She didn't need me to join that group. Besides, she was having another appointment soon to check on her and the baby. I asked if I could go along then and Mom agreed.

Three weeks later, at the beginning of November, Dad drove us to the hospital. Mom was stroking her belly and looked blissful. I was worried over her mood but Dad assured me that was normal. Once at the hospital, we didn't have to wait long. I was allowed into the room with Mom and Dad so I could see my little sister or brother. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't discern a thing on the screen when the doctor showed us. Mom was all gushed up, though. She stared at the screen dreamily.

"Everything looks fine so far," the doctor said, studying the black and white pics intensively. To me it looked like a bad TV screening nearly a century ago when the TV had just been developed. "There're two arms, two legs, a head…" She squinted even harder and nearly crouched into the screen with her nose. "Five toes each, five fingers on the left hand, and five on the right too." Mom threw us a big smile, her eyes fixed on Dad like she wanted to tell him 'See? Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine.'

"Can you see what it's going to be?" I asked the doctor. She moved the ultrasound and squinted at the screen again.

For a while no one spoke, then Mom said, "Oh!" Dad and I looked at her and she stroked the sides of her tummy again. "She just kicked me."

The doctor nodded. "Yes, she did." She glanced at me, humor in her eyes. "I'd say she isn't happy with her big sister calling her an 'it.'"

I frowned in confusion. "What? It's going to be a girl?"

Nodding again, the doctor pointed to something on the screen. But I still couldn't make anything out. "There you see the genitalia."

I glanced at Dad and he sent me a grin until I grinned too. I was going to have a little baby sister!

…

In movies and shows you often see pregnant women crave something exotic or weird while the poor father-to-be had to run through every store in town to get it. So I anticipated for Mom to demand Dad find her strawberries or something else, but there never were any such wishes. The only change, beside the slowly growing baby belly, was Mom's mood turning from angry to gushingly sweet. And when she started to speak to my little sister in baby language, she kept using it toward me too. 'Sweetie pie' was her newest nickname for me. I fled the house as often as I could.

"A baby, huh?" Annabelle asked when I told her about Mom's pregnancy over lunch one day in mid-November; it was shortly before Thanksgiving.

"Yeah. I'll have a little sister." I smiled but then added, "I just wish Mom wouldn't talk baby with me. I'm fourteen after all!"

Annabelle laughed. "It'll be over soon," she soothed. "You just have to bear it for how much longer?"

"Ugh," I groaned. "Don't remind me. She isn't due until end of March. So much more time for her to call me 'sweetie pie.'" I grimaced and Annabelle laughed again.

"That's still better than my baby name."

"What could ever be more embarrassing than 'sweetie pie'?" I asked.

Annabelle snorted. "Being called Spitlet by your father's co-workers when you're already fifteen."

I burst out laughing at that one. "True. Guess 'sweetie pie' isn't that bad in comparison then." She sent me a grin.

…

We celebrated Thanksgiving quietly. At the weekend, we would call Grandma and other relatives, but the feast was just us three – four if you already counted the baby in Mom's tummy. We had the typical turkey-dinner with potatoes and cranberry sauce, and afterward saw the same movie we watched every year: _Hannah and Her Sisters_. It was Grandma's favorite and she had introduced the tradition of watching that movie when my mom had been even younger than me.

Saturday afternoon – after all the necessary calls were made – we went to the beach and enjoyed a nice day out as a family. Dad and I played ball in the water while Mom set the picnic blanket. And then we ate while watching the white cirrostratus move past and listening to the gentle whooshing of the waves lapping at the shore.

"We wanted to ask for your opinion, Chloe," Mom began after the cake had been cleared.

I looked at her. "What about?"

"The baby's name," she clarified, leaning back against Dad. "Your father and I already talked about it but we wanted to hear what you thought of the suggestions we came up with."

That was a surprise! I had never thought to be included in the naming decision. "I'd love to!" I said, making myself even more comfortable on the blanket, looking at Mom and Dad eagerly.

Dad grinned. "We thought you would, that's why we wanted to ask you."

Mom nodded. "At first we intended to go with Daphne, but… the meaning is too…" She trailed off, shrugging.

"Too what?"

"Too impersonal," Mom snapped. "It reminds me too much of you." She looked exasperated.

I raised my eyebrows while Dad said intermediatorily, "Daphne means 'laurel' and your name's meaning is 'young shoot.' Both names are from Greek origin. Also, Daphne is the female version of Daphnis, and both your name and Daphnis feature in a romantic epic written by a Greek author around the second century."

I frowned. "So? The names would fit nicely together, wouldn't they?"

"Generally yes," Dad said but Mom interrupted him.

"But we named you Chloe for a reason. Before I had you, I already lost a son." That was the first time I heard it out of mom's mouth. "So when you were born, it was the most beautiful moment in my life. I wanted to honor it and the circumstances, so I named you Chloe. You were our little sapling, our little baby." Her eyes became watery, but she didn't cry – yet. "I want your sister to have a name with a similar personal meaning."

I knew where Mom was coming from. I hadn't thought about it too recently, but some years back when I still played with dolls I had pondered over what I would once like to call my kids. "And what meaning did you settle on?" I asked.

"Peace. I want her to bring me peace."

Her words strung a chord with me that felt foreboding, like something would come to get me and take me away from my family. The robot that had kidnapped me? That was ridiculous and I knew it, but I couldn't shake off the feeling.

"Nice. So, what's your suggestions?" I asked, trying to smile at her light-heartedly.


	10. Amity to Kin I

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who sent energon for my muse's revival. She's on the mend, but not quite there yet.

I've been working on the next chapter for quite some time. In the end, it got so huge that I had to divide it into three parts. With a bit of luck (and a hopefully recovered muse) the final part should be up around Christmas. Coincidentally, the story's setting falls nicely into place with the time of the year. :)

I hope you enjoy the first part of three, and please feel free to leave some more energon goodies (aka reviews) for my muse after the reading. ;)

* * *

><p>– chapter nine –<p>

**Amity to Kin (1)**

Usually, once Thanksgiving was over, the weather clearly showed that the year was coming to a close. Rain would turn to snow and the temperatures would drop considerably if they hadn't already throughout November. Beginning of December was the time for first snowball fights, the first snowmen to be built and rising Christmas feeling. The first decorations would be attached to the houses, many people going over the top to attract visitors. My family had so far – thank Goodness – celebrated this important holiday with a small family charm only; anything that wasn't overdone was welcome.

But the only hint I got that Christmas was approaching fast was the self-made cookies Grandma sent us, her note saying that she didn't know whether or not we would get cookies here.

Over the last months, I had somewhat gotten used to the tropical climate that dominated Diego Garcia – meaning high humidity year round. But the only change between summer and winter – which, due to the archipelago lying a few degrees south of the equator, were reversed – was a rise in temperature making the overwhelming heat pure torture. How anyone could survive a day being outside rather than inside air-conditioned buildings was a mystery to me. But somehow I still lived to tell the tale.

It was a Friday when I saw the place where Annabelle lived for the first time. She had forgotten a notebook at lunch but I hadn't been fast enough to catch her. So once school was out, I took my bike and went over to give it back. I didn't know whether the math equations in the notebook were important for her studies so I didn't want to wait till Monday to get it to her.

Her family had a house quite a bit outside the town, a long driveway leading up to it, passing by partly really dense wooden areas; the Lennox's certainly lived remote from the rest of the island's population. The tranquil scenery was completed with a white garage next to the house and a quite large front yard where various colorful flower beds grew. Annabelle was outside and cleaning her father's monster pick-up which sat next to the garage. When I rounded the final corner and first saw her, she stood on the bumper and leaned forward to thoroughly scrub the hood in front of the windshield.

Frowning, I slowly climbed off my bike, pushing it the rest of the way. "Hey," I called in greeting. "What did you do to earn yourself such punishment?"

Annabelle jumped when hearing my voice and nearly lost her foot on the bumper. She regained her balance in the last moment though. "Primus!" she exclaimed. "You scared me, Chloe." When she turned toward me, she had a hand placed over her surely wildly beating heart.

"Sorry," I said, feeling guilty for nearly having caused her to get injured.

While climbing off the bumper and then putting away the sponge, she appeased, "It's all right, nothing happened. And I didn't do anything. I volunteered."

I ogled at her. "Voluntarily wash your Dad's pick-up? Wow." I whistled in appreciation.

Annabelle sniggered. "It's fun," she said, sobering up a little and shrugging. "And it doesn't belong to Dad. It's his friend's, Aaron Hyde's. He… only sometimes lets Dad… borrow it." Nodding toward where I had left my bike on the lawn, she said, "What brings you here in this heat?"

"Oh," I made, remembering the reason why I was drenched in sweat. "You left your notebook at lunch so I wanted to bring it to you." I pulled it out of my rucksack and handed it over.

Annabelle had frowned at first, then it dawned on her. "Oh! Of course. I already missed it but thought I'd just misplaced it in my room. Thanks!"

"You're welcome." I gave her a smile which she returned.

"So, you wanna come in and have a drink to cool down again?" Annabelle proposed. "I don't want you to melt in our front yard."

Laughing, I replied, "Sure."

The house was bigger than ours but similar in architecture. The kitchen and living room were arranged like at home and the stairs leading up to the second floor looked like an exact copy of the ones in our house. Annabelle handed me a lemonade from the fridge; it was heaven.

"I can give you clean clothes too if you like," she offered.

I shook my head. "Thanks, but no need. I don't want to impose on you. Just came here to give back the notebook."

"Naw!" Annabelle exclaimed. "You're not imposing! You're welcome to stay. Then I have someone to talk to while I wash the truck."

I grinned. "Sounds like a plan. But I only stay if you let me help with the work. The heat must kill you as much as it kills me."

Annabelle snorted but shook my offered hand. "Deal."

And so I found myself outside once again, next to the most monstrous black pick-up I'd ever seen. Taking the hose Annabelle handed me, I proceeded to rinse out the truck's bed. How a pick-up like that Topkick could have gathered so much dirt and dust in the bed was a miracle. _It mustn't have seen water for at least a year_, I thought while spraying an especially dirty corner.

"You know, usually Mom would wash the truck," Annabelle said, "but she's at the store, doing some Christmas shopping. A new food delivery arrived just this morning and since we're having quite a few people coming for Christmas dinner, she wanted to go as soon as possible to get what she needs."

I nodded. "Makes sense. I should tell Mom about the new delivery – or even better, do the shopping myself when I drive home."

Annabelle was done with the hood and had moved to the passenger side. She looked at me. "And you can carry the shopping bags while on the bike? Isn't that dangerous?"

I shook my head. "In the states maybe, where people drive like maniacs. But here? There's hardly anyone around."

"True," she agreed and concentrated on the particularly grubby door. "But still. I could ask Mom to drive you when she's back. She's gone for a while already and should be home soon."

"That's really kind, but I'm sure your mom has more important stuff to do than play chauffeur for me," I replied.

"Nah. What are friends for if not for something like that?" She grinned and I returned it.

Returning to rinsing out the truck's bed, I asked, "Where does all this filth come from anyway? The bed looks like it has seen battle with the beach."

Annabelle at first only giggled, trying to suppress it, but then she burst out laughing. Tears were streaming down her cheeks while she tried to say, "We wash it regularly; if not every week, then at least once a month. Have to ask Hyde what he always does to get so dirty."

I nodded. "You do that." But because Annabelle couldn't stop laughing, I started giggling myself.

A few minutes later a minivan came up the driveway, making for the garage next to the house. Mrs. Lennox got out and went straight for the trunk. "Can you help me, Annabelle?" she called over. "You can finish the wash and wax later. I'm sure Iron—"

"Sure," Annabelle called before her mother had finished. "Care to help, Chloe?"

Mrs. Lennox looked up and over to us. "Oh, hi, Chloe. I didn't see you there."

I climbed off the truck's bed and dried my hands on an old towel. Going over to the minivan with Annabelle, I shook hands with Mrs. Lennox. "Hello. And no problem. What can I do to help?"

Annabelle had grabbed a bag right away and was already on her way into the house when Mrs. Lennox handed me another one. "That's very nice of you. If you could take that into the kitchen? Just put it onto the table."

"Of course." I quickly followed Annabelle and handed the bag to her; she had already begun putting the groceries away. As I was free to carry another bag inside, I hurried to the minivan and relieved a struggling Mrs. Lennox of her burden.

"You have no idea how much that helps, Chloe," she said amiably while we walked back inside together. "In this heat the food will go off quickly and I could start anew with the shopping."

Nodding, I said, "Mom has the same trouble, and since she's expecting, she can't do too much anymore. Or at least Dad tries to make sure she takes things easy instead of overworking herself."

"Which is only reasonable. But it probably drives your mother nuts, doesn't it?" she asked rhetorically, winking. Annabelle grinned while I nodded in agreement; Mrs. Lennox had hit the mark with her assessment.

While I then helped them unpacking, I couldn't miss the chance commenting on the large variety of ingredients Mrs. Lennox had purchased. "You seem to like baking."

Mrs. Lennox smiled at me, grabbing the first package of flour to stow them away in one of the cupboards. "My guests come with a variety of tastes."

"And Mom prides herself in having everyone's favorite food whenever someone comes to dinner," Annabelle added. Mrs. Lennox threw her an affectionate grin.

I nodded absent-mindedly and handed over another package of flour. "Mom's not much into baking. She really hates it. If it weren't for grandma, we wouldn't have anything like cakes or cookies, ever." I sighed.

"Are you going stateside for the holiday, Chloe?" Mrs. Lennox asked.

I shook my head. "No. As far as I know, Dad is on duty over Christmas. But we'll go during the summer break." I paused, then added, "So it'll be just us three – or four, if you count the unborn baby."

Annabelle looked at me pensively before saying, "Why don't you come over for the dinner on Christmas, Chloe? I'm sure you'd have a great time. Mia, R.C., Hyde and everyone else will be there and –"

Mrs. Lennox tightened her lips. "Honey, we don't want to rush things, do we? Let's talk to your father first before we… decide on whom else to invite."

"But…" Annabelle began, looking toward her mother in confusion. My eyes went back and forth between them. After a moment, Mrs. Lennox raised her eyebrows, like she wanted to tell her daughter something I shouldn't know. Annabelle's confusion grew, but then her eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh," she just made. Biting her lip and playing with her fingers, she turned toward me, embarrassed. "Well…" she stammered.

I relieved her. "Don't worry. I'm sure Mom and Dad have made plans for the Christmas break anyway." I shrugged nonchalantly, although inside I would have _loved_ to accept the invitation – which Mrs. Lennox didn't want to hand out. They were having a party, so? It was hardly a reason to not invite me, was it?

Annabelle looked really chagrinned. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

I shrugged again. "Like I said, don't worry. Another time maybe." And I sent her a smile.

She tentatively returned it, the guilt still visible in her eyes.

…

I came home to Mom and Dad arguing noisily in the kitchen. "— irresponsibility whenever I saw it," Dad was just ranting, somehow managing to still sound calm and composed despite the anger being audible in his choice of words. "What were you thinking, Linda?"

Huffing in irritation but not turning around to look at him, Mom replied, "I told you I was and still am fine, James. Stop fussing!" She was unpacking grocery bags when I glanced into the kitchen; apparently, Mom had been out shopping without Dad, and he was very sensitive toward her overstraining herself during the pregnancy.

I ducked out again before I got caught in the middle of the argument and crept upstairs, but either Mom had suddenly grown eyes at the back of her head or I had made a traitorous noise. She called out to me. "And where exactly have you been, Chloe?" she demanded in a no-nonsense tone. "I had to do your chores. You were supposed to take out the garbage."

"I was?" I asked automatically. Cringing and biting my lip at that slip, I halted and turned back to look at my parents. Mom's eyes were narrowed. I gulped and then explained, "Annabelle forgot her notebook at lunch and I went by her house to give it back to her."

"That was nice of you," Dad commented before Mom could say something.

That statement didn't sit well with her, though. "Oh, so her being in parts unknown is nice whilst I plod to make sure the garbage is taken out in time for the removal?"

"Of course not—"

"Then why are you defending her neglecting her chores? It's not as if she's overscheduled. Taking out the garbage won't hurt her."

Dad took a deep breath to stay calm. "Linda, the garbage won't be collected for another two days. Right now you're blowing things out of proportion. Why don't we discuss this at a later point, when you had the chance to sit down and relax?"

Mom bristled. "And now you're making it sound again as if I'm overstraining myself. I told you I'm fine." She whirled around and continued unpacking. When Dad took a step in her direction, she shot at him, "Don't you have chores to do too, James? Just leave me alone."

Not waiting for the explosion, I ran up the stairs and hid in my room.

About two hours later, while I was deeply immersed in my Spanish homework, Dad came in, carrying the phone. "Annabelle for you, hon," he said.

Sitting up in a flash, I took it. "Hey. What's up? Why are you calling?" I asked while Dad left my room again.

Annabelle's laughter reached my ear. She sounded a little breathless. "Guess what. I called Dad after you left, asking him whether you could come to the Christmas dinner. Mom wasn't happy," she admitted contritely, "saying this was something that could have waited till Dad was home for dinner. But I just _had_ to know, you know?"

I could sympathize with where she was coming from. And she obviously really wanted me to be there for Christmas dinner. "So? Did he say something?"

She hemmed and hawed a little. "Not really. He said there's nothing that would make it impossible for you to come over, but he would have to think about it." She sighed in annoyance. "I don't understand why adults always have to be so complicated. It's really just simple: either you may come, or you may not. What's the hold-up?"

I shrugged. "Yeah…"

"I'll just keep asking him until he gives in. That usually works with Dad," Annabelle said confidently. "You'll see, at the end of the weekend I have them convinced that you'll just have to come to the Christmas dinner." I could easily see the grin that must have been plastered on her face right now. "You'd come if you may, right?"

"Sure! Anything to get away from Mom."

I could literally see how Annabelle perked up at the other end of the line. "Did something happen?" she asked, concern audible in her voice.

Sighing, I replied, "The usual. Mom went all hormonal." I sighed again. "How much longer is this pregnancy going? Can't the baby come already?"

Annabelle laughed. "Well, in that case, how about a get-away option for tomorrow? I messaged Mia, and she agreed to teach you." The breathless excitement of earlier was back in her voice.

Then it clicked with me what she'd been saying. I blinked. "What?" Teach me? I had hoped to not have any studying to do for the next two days; that was why I was doing my homework on a Friday night rather than enjoying the end of the week.

"Nothing to do with school," Annabelle appeased. "Mia is an excellent sniper. She taught me how to shoot. With real, actual weapons."

I raised my eyebrows. "Guns? And your dad allowed that?" I asked, a little incredulous.

Annabelle laughed out loud. "Pistol. And not really. He about had a fit when he found out, but Hyde calmed him down. Guess he's by now accepted that his daughter can handle side-arms. Mia's a great teacher, and she makes sure we're safe. Nothing will happen. So, you game?"

I hesitated. It sounded interesting and would be a great opportunity to not having to spend every waking hour with Mom and Dad over the weekend. I hated weapons, though. They were loud and could easily kill people. I didn't know whether I'd be smart enough to not shoot myself accidentally, but without trying, I'd never know. "Why not? She doesn't happen to have bow and arrow, by any chance, though?" I asked, half-jokingly. Compared to guns, archery was something I wanted to learn one of these days as handling bow and arrow was something entirely different to guns. It was an art.

Annabelle made a pensive sound. "Not sure. I don't think she has, but I could message her to make sure. Would that be more your métier?"

"It's something I'm interested in. But if she hasn't, it's not a problem. Side-arms will be fine for now." Anything to get away from Mom was fine with me, and if Miss Mia made sure I didn't shoot myself, I could live with learning how to handle side-arms.

"Cool. I'll tell Mia to fetch you tomorrow at ten?"

"Sure. Looking forward to it."

…

Miss Mia was punctual. Mom and Dad still sat at the breakfast table when the doorbell rang, but I had been ready for the last hour and had been waiting in my room. I literally flew down the stairs and got to the door before either of my parents could get up. "See you later!" I called before slipping out of the door.

Dad – probably only due to his training over the years – caught me before I could completely bolt out the door, however. "And where exactly are we going?" he asked while I froze on the threshold.

"Well, 'we' – that is Annabelle, Miss R.C and her sister Miss Mia – are going to… the beach," I wildly invented. No need to tell him what we really had planned. I wasn't sure how Dad would react, but Mom certainly would have a fit.

"And where's your swimsuit? Towels?"

Darn! "Ehm… we're not going swimming, Dad. We're having… a picnic."

He regarded me for a moment speculatively, but then he waved with his hand, dismissing me. "Have fun."

"Thanks! Will be back for dinner."

Miss Mia's bike parked just off the curb again. "You certainly have a hand with your parents," she commented, holding out the blue helmet.

I blushed and slammed the helmet onto my head with more force than necessary before getting onto the bike behind Miss Mia. "It's nothing," I mumbled, hiding my face in her back.

She laughed and revved the engine once before slowly driving off down the street. "That was meant as a compliment, Chloe," she told me over the wind. I barely heard her and had to strain to listen. "No need to feel embarrassed."

"Thanks," I mumbled, doubting Miss Mia's seriousness while my cheeks heated in another blush.

Then, as soon as we rounded a corner and were out of sight of the house, Miss Mia suddenly accelerated until we literally flew down the street. Everything around us turned to nothing more than a blur. I clung to Miss Mia like my life depended on it, and due to the speed I had difficulties keeping my feet securely placed on the passenger footrests. The wind whipped around my face – unlike Miss Mia's, my helmet didn't have a visor – making it hard to breathe. I therefore tried to make myself as small as possible behind her back so that I could catch some air every now and then.

Despite the blurry surroundings, I quickly realized we were heading toward Annabelle's home. Miss Mia approached the house without taking away from the speed; only at the very last moment she braked, fishtailing, with the gravel flying in all directions. I screamed until my ears rang and tightened my hold until I surely nearly suffocated Miss Mia. Even after the motorcycle had stopped and straightened up again, it took me a moment before I could climb off with shaky knees. When taking off the helmet, I noticed Miss Mia looking at me with mischievousness shining in her eyes. I blushed furiously.

"You sure know how to scare someone," Mrs. Lennox admonished when she came across the front yard. She hugged me against her side, at the same time glaring in the young woman's direction. "Really, Mia, I thought better of you."

Miss Mia shrugged nonchalantly, opting for an innocent expression. "Fi— Annabelle doesn't get scared."

"Chloe's not Annabelle, remember that." Pulling me away, Mrs. Lennox led me into the house. "Don't take it personally," she told me. "Mia likes to get rowdy every now in a while. She would never hurt you though."

Still a bit shaky, but mostly composed again, I nodded. "Thanks. And it's okay. I just didn't expect her to drive this…" I trailed off, fishing for a word.

"Recklessly?" Mrs. Lennox provided.

"Yeah." I nodded in agreement. "She didn't when she, Annabelle, Miss R.C. and I went for the beach across the bay."

Upon entering the kitchen, Miss R.C. sent me a grin in greeting. "Being reckless with someone is Mia's way of showing her affection," she said; apparently, she had overheard Mrs. Lennox's and my conversation. "She'll keep you safe, though, so don't worry about it."

"I won't," I mumbled into the glass of water Mrs. Lennox had pushed into my hand, feeling a little light-headed all of a sudden. Miss Mia liked me? Wow. After emptying the glass, I asked Miss R.C., "And what brings you here?"

Her grin widened even more. "Our Spanish tutor sessions of course."

I blinked and groaned. "I thought Miss Mia is going to teach me how to shoot."

"And I will," came the reply from the hallway before the speaker herself entered the kitchen.

"But whenever you don't hit the target like you are supposed to, you'll have to do some Spanish grammar tasks," Miss R.C. explained. I groaned again.

"Take it like a femme," Miss Mia advised, hugging me against her side like Mrs. Lennox had earlier. "Besides, I'm not a 'Miss;' that's for wusses. I'm just Mia. Say it," she ordered.

"You're just Mia," I dutifully replied.

"Good. Remember that," she said sternly with a playful grin on her lips.

"And while we're at it," Miss R.C. piped in, "I'm just R.C. Stop calling Mia and me 'Miss.' It makes us feel old."

Before I could respond in any way, Miss M— Mia said, "Now that we've fully discussed that… Come on. The earlier we start the more practice you'll get." And thus she pulled me out to the back yard where there was a small table with various side-arms as well as a target hung up on one of the trees approximately fifty feet away. Annabelle was preparing one of the guns, but put it back when seeing me.

"Hey," she greeted and briefly hugged me. "Ready for some action?"

Glancing warily at Mi— R.C. coming to sit on the veranda, I answered, "Sure – but not for the Spanish in case I miss."

Annabelle laughed. "Well, there's a simple way to get around Spanish." At my expectant look, she said, "Just don't miss." There was booming laughter from all around me, but at least everyone meant well, not to embarrass me. It was a small consolation.

…

Shooting with guns was an interesting experience. You had to stretch out your arm but tighten your muscles to keep it straight. However, the moment you release the shot, you need to loosen the muscles again in order to soften the repercussion resulting from the power with which the bullet is fired. I had my fair share of trouble with it; either my hand was shaking too much until I got used to the weight of the pistol, and then the repercussion of the shot let me stagger back, once even so much so that I stumbled over an uneven part of the ground and fell onto my butt. Mia was at my side in a flash, inquiring whether everything was all right, and then she helped me stand up again.

"Don't stress too much," she said. "Take it slowly and shoot only when you're certain you can keep your arm steady." She gently pummeled me back into position and came to stand directly behind me. Taking my wrist, she steadied my arm and aligned hers to mine. "Take your time with aiming," she advised. "Nice and slow. Deep breaths; that helps with finding your inner strength. Now, steady, slowly pull the trigger…" Her finger lay over mine and pushed down until the bullet shot free from its hold. "… and once you fired, pull the pistol up." With our arms aligned and her finger holding mine captive over the released trigger, I had no choice but to make the same arm movement she made – with the result that I hardly felt the repercussion.

I was floored. "Wow," I said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She nudged me playfully. "Only next time no last-minute shaker when you pull the trigger. You might even hit the target then."

I blushed in embarrassment. "I'll try."

R.C. then called down from the veranda, "Translate the following sentence: 'I will shoot straight next time.'"

Since it was Annabelle's turn to practice, I could concentrate on my tutoring lesson. It took me some time though. "Yo disparo derecho la próxima vez?" I eventually tried and looked at R.C. warily.

She sighed. "You mixed up the tenses again, Chloe. 'La próxima vez' indicates future. It describes an action to come. Can you follow?"

I slowly nodded. "Yeah…"

"Then try again."

I rummaged in my mind, trying to remember how to conjugate in future tense, but came up empty. R.C. apparently noticed because she grabbed one of the various books lying open around her, shoving it in my direction. I walked up to where she sat and read the passage she pointed out for me – twice, just to make sure I had really gotten it. I translated the sentence in my head, testing how it sounded, then nodded absent-mindedly to myself.

R.C. took that as her cue to ask, "So, how does the sentence have to be translated correctly?"

"Yo dispararé derecho la próxima vez," I said, this time certain that I got it right.

"Grammatically correct but rarely used in common speech. There's the futuro próximo for everyday usage."

"Err…" I glanced at the book again, but R.C. covered the page so I was left to my own devices. However, in that moment, I remembered. "Yo voy a disparar derecho la próxima vez."

R.C. nodded approvingly and smiled. "Correct. Now back to shooting. It's your turn again."

And that's how we spent the morning until Mrs. Lennox called us to lunch. She had prepared pasta, and it was delicious. The topic over lunch was – of course – my progress with target practice. "Still shaking, but she's nearing the target more and more. I'm sure by the end of today she'll have the hang of it," Mia said.

R.C. nodded. "Until then, we'll have the tenses ingrained into her."

Mrs. Lennox glared at the two. "You talk about Chloe as if she wasn't here. Stop being so rude." Turning toward me, she asked, "Do you want some more cheese on your pasta, my dear?"

"Please. Thanks, Mrs. Lennox."

Annabelle downed her glass of water. "It took me a while to get the hang of it as well," she said while refilling the glass. "Nobody's perfect right away. You'll learn eventually."

Before I could answer, the front door opened and Mr. Lennox came in, followed by Mr. Hyde. There was the general commotion when everyone greeted the newcomers, then Mr. Hyde sat down next to Mia while Mrs. Lennox filled a plate for him. "Are you sure there'll be something left for Will?" he asked bluntly when the plate filled to the brim was set before him.

Mrs. Lennox laughed, already filling a second plate for her husband, piling the pasta on it. "Of course; there's more still in the oven, Hyde. Nobody'll starve at my table."

He nodded, digging in. "Good. I don't want to be responsible for the death of one of my family."

Mr. Lennox snorted, amused. "That's a first, Hyde," he retorted playfully.

Mr. Hyde huffed amidst the laughter of Mrs. Lennox, R.C. and Mia.

I leaned over to Annabelle and quietly asked, "His family? I thought he's just a friend."

Annabelle nodded. "He is, but he and Dad are really tight," she answered in the same low voice. "They've worked together for years already and been in enough tight spots. That sort of work forged a bond between them. Dad's like family to him, and so are Mom and I. Mia and Hyde are an item as you'll probably already noticed, and with R.C. being Mia's sister, we've all become like a big family. That includes all the others." She smiled.

"You mean your father's co-workers, right?"

"Yes." Annabelle nodded.

"That sounds really nice," I commented, my mind coming up with images of a large family where everyone loved everyone.

"Yep, it really is," R.C. said from next to Annabelle, apparently having overheard our whispered conversation. "The Lennox's are kin to us and will always be."

I of course knew the word 'kin,' but to me it sounded like it had a much deeper meaning the way R.C. used it. From what I've witnessed, the Christiansen sisters were really close, more like twins than just sisters, and even though it looked like brawling to me the first time I'd seen them together, Mia and Mr. Hyde gave the impression of being deeply devoted to each other. That the Lennox's were close with the three was obvious, but I had never thought that these two families were more than just friends. _And_ they included their fellow comrades, too. There was a small sense of longing within me that wished to be part of this kinship.

…

After lunch, we went back to the shooting practice. Mia helped me some more until I hit the target dead-on. Annabelle cheered and I grinned goofily. It was a great feeling of having accomplished this much in such a short time. But as soon as I was left to my own devices, my aim was off again, sometimes even quite far which resulted in more Spanish grammar tasks for me to solve.

Mr. Hyde had opted to sit down next to R.C., watching us practice shooting. Whether or not it was a male thing or just a personal quirk of him, he continuously gave comments like "hold your hand steady before shooting," or "where in Primus' name did you learn to aim?" or even "the target already is as big as it can be. You must be blind to miss like you just did."

Eventually, Mia lost her patience with him. After another miss from my side and an unnecessary commentary from Mr. Hyde, she whirled around and hissed in his direction, "I can handle her. I know how to teach a youngling."

Annabelle added, "Mia's a great teacher, Hyde. She taught me after all."

Mr. Hyde wasn't impressed. "I know Mia can teach how to shoot, and with parents like yours, Annabelle, there was no way you wouldn't have learned fast. However, I wasn't discriminating Mia's teaching abilities. I merely advised Chloe to aim straight."

I blushed while Annabelle defended me. "She knows that. She still has trouble with her arm shaking too much. Give her time; your comments don't help speed her up learning how to shoot straight."

Just the moment Mr. Hyde opened his mouth to reply, Mrs. Lennox came onto the veranda, carrying a tray with drinks. "Be nice, everyone. This day is too beautiful for hurting words. And if you need something to do to keep you occupied, Hyde, why don't you go into the garage to Will? You could help him with washing the car."

The Christiansen sisters smirked at each other and then R.C. said, "Have fun, warrior."

Annabelle added in a playful ribbing, "Yeah, go help Dad wash the car, Hyde. Leave us femmes handle the weapons."

Grouchy at not being wanted, Mr. Hyde got up and walked around the house, all the way grumbling something along the line of "Primus, what did I do to earn kin like them?" It was obvious, however, that he took it all amiably.


	11. Amity to Kin II

**Author's Notes:** Thank you for the lovely reviews! I love reading your thoughts. :)

Here's now part two of "Amity to Kin". Please enjoy!

* * *

><p>– chapter ten –<p>

**Amity to Kin (2)**

Uncounted shots and missed targets later, Mr. Lennox and Mr. Hyde joined us in the backyard again. It was still light outside, but apparently, it had gotten late; I noticed when glancing at my watch for the first time ever since coming to the Lennox's house. "Guess it's time for me to go home."

"I'll drive you, Chloe," Mr. Lennox offered.

To my immense surprise, Mr. Hyde said, "I'll come with you."

"There's really no need," I argued – naturally without success.

Mr. Hyde only scoffed in reply. "Nonsense, femme. We'll take you. So get your stuff."

"Not so fast," Mia interrupted while her hands flew over a pistol, loading it with munitions, before she shoved it into my hands. "One last shot." To me she said, "Try to hit the target this time, Chloe."

Conscious about the many eyes watching me, I tried to concentrate and not miss again. I didn't want to leave as a total failure and embarrass Mia even further, especially after she gave up her entire day to teach me shooting. But with Mr. Hyde standing somewhere behind me and watching with hawk eyes, it was hard to ignore the audience. My hands were thus naturally shaking a lot, and I had to relax and get back into position several times before being able to actually aim at the target. It was more of a miracle than me aiming straight that the target was hit – not dead-center, that would have been too much to ask for, but at least the third circle.

Before I knew it, I was engulfed in a hug with squeals ringing in my ears. Annabelle jumped up and down with obvious excitement, nearly knocking us both over. It was only thanks to R.C. who hugged me from the other side that Annabelle and I remained standing.

"See, I told you she could do it," I heard Mia say, smugness audible in her tone. There was only a rumbled answer, identifying the person she had been talking to as Mr. Hyde.

"All right, Chloe did it, and now it's time to leave," Mr. Lennox announced.

Annabelle pried herself off me. "That was a great shot at the end," she complimented. I blushed slightly, feeling joyful, but she didn't let me get a word out, continuing, "See you at school on Monday. Have a nice Sunday." As she still had homework to do, we wouldn't meet tomorrow. Besides, I couldn't impose on the Lennox's all the time just to get away from Mom's hormones.

"Thanks." To Mrs. and Mr. Lennox I said, "Thanks for having me today."

"No problem, not at all," Mrs. Lennox said warmly, hugging me to her side. "You're welcome here any time, Chloe."

The others then said their goodbyes, Mia even congratulating me for the fine shot at the end and promising we'd have more shooting practice another time. "Have a nice Sunday, everyone," I said, already following both men back around the house toward the front yard. And then they were out of view.

We drove with Mr. Hyde's black monster pick-up, he behind the wheel and Mr. Lennox riding shot-gun. It was quiet in the cab for a while, but as soon as we turned onto the main road, Mr. Lennox spoke up. "Annabelle told me she would like to invite you for the Christmas dinner at our house, Chloe." He slightly turned around in his seat. "And that you would like to come."

Surprised at him addressing the topic right now, I looked down at my lap, nervously fiddling with my thumbs before finding the courage to look back up again. "I do…" I began hesitantly. "Though, I don't want to be an inconvenience, Mr. Lennox, sir," I hastened to add, afraid to be impolite and imposing myself when I wasn't welcome.

"As if you'd be an inconvenience," Mr. Hyde said, but it was more directed to Mr. Lennox than to me. He also threw a meaningful look in his co-worker's direction, as if daring him to disagree with the statement.

Mr. Lennox ignored Mr. Hyde, instead keeping his eyes on me. Eventually, he slowly said, "You and Annabelle have become great friends, Chloe, so it would only be fair to let her invite you, seeing that the other guests are just co-workers of mine and not of Annabelle's age either."

"Mia and R.C. get along with your femme, Will," Mr. Hyde reminded. "They're friends too."

"I know," Mr. Lennox appeased his friend. "But I actually meant a friend of her own age, Hyde. I can imagine that someone to talk to about teenage topics without fearing that they'll run to her mom behind her back to blab every little secret is something Annabelle needs. Just look at the friendship the two girls have built." Back to me, he said, "I don't know if your parents have planned something else for the holiday. If they have, Chloe, you should spend the days with them. If not and they don't mind you coming, then you're very welcome to join us. Your parents too for that matter."

I blinked for a moment, not really grasping that he had just invited me, but then warmth spread through me and I felt my face split with a happy grin. "Thank you!" I said reverently.

I received a smile in return.

…

Mom and Dad didn't mind me going to the Christmas dinner – which surprised me. I had counted on Dad being quite lenient and Mom arguing that Christmas was a family feast and should be celebrated accordingly. Therefore, I had considered telling Dad first and then have him breach the topic with Mom. But then I thought that not telling Mom straight away might hurt her, and with her hormones already wreaking havoc, especially with her getting upset quite easily about _anything_ really, I didn't want to risk fighting with Mom. So I told them both at dinner that very same day, and to my surprise, they agreed. Mom – _Mom!_ – even admitted that would give her and Dad some time alone; they were grateful for the invitation, though. Whatever their motives behind their decision: I was blissfully happy. Christmas couldn't come quickly enough.

It was faster upon us than I had imagined, and I was running out of time to acquire appropriate Christmas presents. Annabelle ensured me I didn't need to have a present for everyone turning up, especially since I didn't know the majority of the people invited. But I knew how bad I would feel standing before other people with empty hands. So I didn't stop pondering over what to do until Mrs. Lennox made a suggestion when I was at Annabelle's place again in mid-December.

"How about you bake a cake or make something else nice for dessert?" she said while handing out drinks. "That way, you won't be empty-handed and everyone will get something out of it."

That was a great idea per se; there was only one problem… "I don't know how to bake, Mrs. Lennox."

Mrs. Lennox easily replied, "So? I'll teach you. No problem." She then went and brought back three books with dessert recipes. "Look through these and choose a dessert. I'll teach you how to make it."

While I already began leafing through the first book, Annabelle proposed, "Mom, why don't we just say Chloe comes over one or two days beforehand and we all bake together? Then she doesn't have to do the dessert again, but it would still be something prepared with her contribution."

Mrs. Lennox nodded approvingly. "Sounds like a plan. Chloe, what say you?"

I smiled. "I like the idea."

And thus we arranged for a baking afternoon on the day before Christmas Eve. Mrs. Lennox even called Mom and invited her along, but Mom politely denied. "This is something Chloe should do alone with Annabelle. I don't want to invade the girls' friendship." Which was a really nice thing of Mom to say. I vowed to myself to be especially attentive to Mom from now on in order to show my gratitude. Mom might be difficult from time to time, but it was statements like these that reminded me why I loved her so much.

Baking was an interesting experience. It was important to mix the right ingredients in the correct measures to get the result you aimed for; otherwise, the cake wouldn't rise like it should, or your cookies might turn out to be too hard and inedible. With Mrs. Lennox's guidance, however, learning how to bake was fun and of course successful. In the end, we made two trays of cookie-sized cakes and three apple pies. The smell of them when we took them out of the oven filled my nose and let my stomach rumble. We all laughed at that.

The morning on Christmas Day was spent with my parents. We unpacked presents and enjoyed a little peace with the family, singing Christmas songs and watching old Christmas movies before having a light lunch. Dad then drove me over to the Lennox's place in the early afternoon so that I could help with the preparations. Mrs. Lennox told me I was a guest and should just sit back and enjoy myself, but I insisted on lending a hand (or two). So Annabelle and I decorated the veranda and started setting the table.

At around five pm, the first guests started to arrive, among them Mia. She was accompanied by three people: a pair of twins and a tall, dark-haired man that looked brooding though laid-back, but who nonetheless had an air of authority around himself.

Annabelle, when seeing the arrivals, grabbed my hand and pulled me over. "Chloe, let me introduce you. That's Prowl, one of Hyde's officers, and the twins are Sunny and Sides." I mumbled a hello and gave a little wave (after none of the men seemed to want to shake hands with me), wondering where such odd names came from. Annabelle, in the meantime, whispered into my ear, "Whatever Sunny and Sides tell you, don't – under any circumstance – accept anything from them. The two are pranksters through and through and will try to get to you earlier than later." In a normal voice, she addressed the three, "Guys, that's my friend Chloe. You know her mother; she works with Dad but in communications."

The man named Prowl nodded. "Private Roberts. She's a good officer – only a little… different."

"Cause she's expecting," one of the twins drawled, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Annabelle he said, "And I heard what you whispered into her ears, Firebr—"

Mia jabbed him when she walked by.

He bristled. "What was that for, femme? I didn't do anything!" he called out indignantly.

He received a smack on the head from Mr. Prowl, but before either could say something, Mrs. Lennox sternly said from the veranda, "No cheekiness today, Sides. Today is a day of peace and quiet." Out of the corner of my eyes I saw the twin named Sides open his mouth for a reply, but Mrs. Lennox was faster. "Why don't you come in and help me with preparing the dinner?"

"Yeah, go help prepare the dinner," Mia said with a smirk.

"That's the work of squishies!" he argued.

That earned him another smack on the back of his head by Mr. Prowl. "I can send you to the brig if you don't behave," the dark-haired man warned.

Mr. Sides made a sound similar to when someone gets strangled. He rubbed his head but obviously relented because he stalked up to Mrs. Lennox, all the while grumbling and sending dark glares in Mia's direction. He quickly vanished inside the house with Mrs. Lennox, however. Mr. Sunny then sidled away from us, choosing a chair on the farthest side of the veranda to sit in.

"Sorry about that," Annabelle mumbled. "The two just don't know how to behave."

I shook my head. "That's okay, nothing happened."

"Don't be so lenient with these two glitches. They'll sniff out weakness quickly and attack you like hungry wolves. Better be on your guard whenever around them," Mr. Prowl said before walking away as well. I stared after him.

"Don't take him too seriously," a familiar voice said. "Prowl is always like that." I turned and met the friendly gaze of Mr. Tapp. "Nice to see you again, Chloe."

I smiled. "Nice to see you again too, Mr. Tapp."

He laughed. "Just call me Jolt, please. Mr. Tapp sounds too… dignified."

Annabelle joined into his laughter while I sent him a smile. "All right. Merry Christmas, Jolt."

"Merry Christmas to you too," he replied.

More and more people arrived, among them the Epps family. Little Daniel and Graham came running toward us, hugging Annabelle and my legs with enthusiasm that let us stumble back and nearly fall. "Merry Christmas!" the boys cried in unison.

"Merry Christmas to you too."

And wherever you looked the next minutes, the phrase was repeated over and over again.

One of the last to come were Mr. Hatchett, another set of twins (this pair seemingly younger than Mr. Sides and Mr. Sunny) and a middle-aged man with cowboy hat. It was Mia who grabbed me this time and made the introduction. "Prime, that's Chloe Roberts. Chloe, meet Optimus Prime, our leader." The tone of her voice was full of reverence and I got the impression that the man with cowboy hat was looked up to by everyone.

"It is an honor to meet you, Chloe," he said solemnly. "I wish you a merry Christmas." His deep voice sort of created an echo within me; I thought my heart stopped beating for a moment.

I was left speechless and only got out of the half-trance I'd fallen into when Mia jabbed her elbow in my side. Blushing slightly, I took the offered hand to shake it, mumbling something like "Merry to meet you too, great Christmas," before noticing the slip. My blush gained intensity until my cheeks felt like you could make scrambled eggs on them.

Mr. Prime laughed lowly, but it didn't sound like it was out of spite. "I've heard quite a bit about you already. Hopefully there will be a chance to talk to you again tonight." He didn't wait for me to say something, instead walking on, but not before having sent me a very warm smile.

Even if he had waited for a reply, I wouldn't have been able to give him one. I was deeply touched and shaken to the core. It was hard to describe what I felt in that moment. My thoughts were all over the place, and I was deeply confused as to why he had such an effect on me. Where his hand had touched mine the sensation of having been burned lingered. But in a good sense, like sacredly burned. I probably would sound totally nuts were I to try and explain that to someone, but I had the impression that there was something about his person that was grander than life, grander than all of us taken together. Something about Mr. Prime was so immensely… distinctive, it was mind-blowing. I knew it wasn't physical attraction; he was old enough to be my dad. Still, I knew I needed to talk to him again, under whatever circumstance, to try and unscramble the emotional chaos he had left me in. Hopefully – like he had said – there would be another chance tonight.

And then, suddenly, I felt icy cold. I didn't have a present for him! The dessert I had prepared with Annabelle and Mrs. Lennox felt insignificant. Even if he didn't have something to present me with – which I doubted – I wanted to give something to him, with an intensity that it actually hurt.

Like from a distance a voice slowly registered with me. "Wow. Prime sure left you in a state." I blinked several times before looking at the woman standing next to me and regarding me with a curious look; it was Mia.

Annabelle saved me from having to answer Mia. "There you are. Come on, dinner's about to start. Everyone's taking their seats, and if we wanna sit together, we have to hurry or the best places will be taken." She grabbed my hand and pulled me away, leaving Mia to her own devices.

I ended up sitting somewhere in the middle. Annabelle was to my right, Mr. and Mrs. Lennox across from me, and Jolt to my left. Mr. Prime had the place of honor at the one head of the banquet; the other one stayed empty. I nudged Annabelle and leaned closer to her. "Why is no one sitting across from Mr. Prime?" I asked quietly.

Annabelle replied in the same low tone, "It's reserved for Optimus' brother. As he's not here today, the seat stays empty." She then turned to her other side, listening to something Mia told her.

People talked quite a lot during dinner, but not with me. Everyone seemed immersed in little group discussions, and since I didn't have any idea what they were about, I tried listening for the most part. Most of the time, it was hard to understand anything because the acoustic wasn't the best, but the few times I did catch some words they made no sense to me. So I sat in silence until Jolt engaged me in a conversation. "How are things going for you?" he asked curiously.

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess. School's all right."

He nodded. "What's your favorite subject?"

"Um…" I actually had to ponder over the answer for a while. "Physics, I suppose. I do like math and chemistry, but we've been doing quite a lot experimenting lately which is fun."

"What are they teaching at the moment?" Mrs. Lennox asked, catching onto our topic.

"Mechanics." I launched into a description of what I had been taught in the last weeks before the holidays, and to my surprise, Jolt and Mrs. Lennox listened closely. Especially Jolt seemed very much interested in my summary of this branch of physics; he posed questions all over the place which kept me talking for quite a while.

Eventually, when the main dish was cleared and a general lull in conversation spread, Mrs. Lennox got up and started stapling empty dishes. Annabelle got to her feet as well, as did R.C. However, Mrs. Lennox quickly said to the latter, "I'll take care of it, don't worry. You sit back down and enjoy the day."

"But I want to help," R.C. protested.

"Thanks, but I already have help." Mrs. Lennox looked at me. "Right, Chloe? It's time for dessert, I'd say." Taking the hint, I quickly stood and lent a hand with clearing the table before following Annabelle and her mother inside.

While Mrs. Lennox finished putting the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher, Annabelle and I each grabbed a baking tray with the cookie-sized cakes we had prepared to bring them outside. When stepping onto the veranda, panic washed over me. "I don't know what to say…" I whispered urgently; I wasn't one for speeches.

"Leave that to me," Annabelle said calmly. "Just wish everyone a 'Merry Christmas' before putting the tray onto the table – or better still, go around the one side and offer the cakes to everyone directly."

"Okay." I could do that.

As soon as we were within sight, Annabelle brightly announced, "And here we go with a present from Chloe to all of you. Bon appétit and Merry Christmas!"

Before anyone could react – least of all say something – Graham and Daniel Epps caught the one word most important to them today. Expecting to be bestowed now, they came running toward us, shouting, "Presents!" They nearly ran us over in their enthusiasm. Annabelle was able to quickly find her balance again on her own, but Mia – next to whose chair I luckily stood that moment – helped steadying me.

"I take that as our cue to bring out the presents," Mr. Epps joked while simultaneously trying to catch his younger son before he could run someone else over.

"Right you are," Mr. Lennox agreed, grabbing the other boy when he zipped past. "After all, what's Christmas without exchanging gifts?" Nearly everyone laughed and the kids were jubilating in growing excitement.

While a few people vanished to bring out the presents, Annabelle and I walked around the table, handing out the cakes. "Merry Christmas," I said, my confidence growing (especially when I received praise of how delicious the cakes were) and me feeling more and more comfortable the more time I spent among these people.

"Did you make them all by yourself?" Mr. Hatchett asked when he took one of the cakes off my tray.

"Um, not really," I admitted. "Mrs. Lennox and Annabelle made them. I only helped." I blushed.

"Nah," Annabelle called from the other side of the table, "Chloe made them all. She's just way too humble."

Nodding, Mr. Hatchett said, "Even if you 'only helped', you contributed. That's all that counts." I blushed again while he chuckled before taking a bite. "They're lovely, Chloe."

When everyone had returned to the backyard, we started trading presents. The kids of course received the biggest ones. But Annabelle got a few bigger packages as well, namely from Mr. Hyde and R.C. Though, she really seemed to like my gift too – a self-knit friendship bracelet – if her hugging me tightly to herself was an indication to go by.

Once having let go again, Annabelle went and set a square, medium-sized box onto the table in front of me. "Merry Christmas. I thought long on what to give you… I hope you like it."

Eager to know what she in the end came up with, I opened the box and discovered several toy-sized cars and motorcycles. I took one out – a yellow muscle car with black racing stripes – and regarded it from all angles; turned out it was a Camaro. The attention to detail was magnificent; I could even discern welds or the profile of the wheels. "Wow. Where did you get these? I've never before seen something so detailed."

Annabelle grinned, plopping down into the seat next to mine. "I didn't really get them anywhere. Ratchet made the toys for me several years ago. But I've… well, outgrown them." She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish, as if she had no idea what exactly to say. "I thought you might find them to be… useful."

I raised an eyebrow at her; why she thought I would find toys – even as detailed as the one I still held in my hand – to be of use was anyone's guess. In addition, to me these so-called 'toys' looked more fitted to be models in a collection rather than to be played with by a kid. Some like the motorcycles looked quite fragile to begin with; playing with them would certainly put harm to them. However, I already had an idea where I could put them. My room still looked quite Spartan, but I imagined a shelf with models would make it a little homier.

"Thank you. They're wonderful," I finally said.

Smiling, Annabelle asked, "Really?"

I nodded. "Of course." I glanced at the models again, regarding a blue motorcycle more closely. "Just a question though… You said Ratchet made them…"

Annabelle took a green compact car out of the box, rolling it over the palm of her hand. "Yeah."

"Who's 'Ratchet'?"

She giggled. "Ron Hatchett of course. 'Ratchet' is his nickname."

I stared at her. "He's nicknamed after a tool?"

The giggling turned to laughter. "It suits him perfectly. 'Hatchet' too is a tool after all." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Guess so…" I put the yellow Camaro and blue motorcycle back into the box, grabbing a silver Corvette instead. "How old were you when he gave them to you?"

She had to think about it for a moment. "Six if I'm not mistaken."

To the silver Corvette I held in my hand I found a matching golden one. "What did you use them for? Cars hardly make for action figures."

A wicked grin appeared on her face. "Oh, they do. Here, look, they can do this." She took a black SUV, thumped its rear lightly onto the table and it transformed into a miniature robot. My eyebrows shot up. "Cool, huh?" Annabelle asked.

Gently tipping the silver Corvette's rear onto the table, I revealed the robot underneath. "So much to models," I mumbled to myself when I repeated the movement with the golden Corvette.

Suddenly, a shadow fell onto the table from across from me. Looking up I saw Mr. Hyde stand there, looking at the robots in my hand and the box with the other… 'toys.' Only then I realized that several of his co-workers stood around Annabelle and me, some with blank or even shocked expressions. Eventually, Mr. Prime slowly said, "Annabelle, may I ask why you chose to give Chloe your old toys?" His voice was calm and leveled, but I thought I detected a slight… tremble – for lack of a better expression.

My friend was unperturbed. She put the black robot flat onto the table until it had morphed back into the car. Shrugging, she then answered, "I thought she might like them," adding a really wide grin in Mr. Prime's direction. A slight frown was forming on his forehead, but Annabelle sat up straight and said to me, "You might want to be careful with them, Chloe. They can break quite easily. Ratchet would repair them then, though, wouldn't you?" The last was addressed at the doctor who stood behind my shoulder.

While I twisted around to look up at him, the doctor sighed. "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Nope," Annabelle returned lightly, still grinning widely.

Mr. Hyde reached across the table and pulled out a black truck. "You don't want to keep this beauty? It's been your favorite," he said to my friend, sounding slightly accusatory.

Annabelle glanced at me and I looked at her, in confusion. "Well…" she began hesitantly while I wondered if there was more to the 'toys' than met the eye.

Deciding I wouldn't solve the problem right here and now, I shrugged. "If you liked the truck the most, keep it. I don't mind." Pointing at the box, I added, "There's more than enough left."

She grinned and threw her arms around my neck. "Thanks."

I smiled. "No, no, I have to thank you. It's a great gift."

"You're welcome."

The next surprise came in form of a present for me from Mr. Hyde, R.C. and Mia. "Can't have you leave with empty hands, can we?" R.C. said while I didn't know whether I should blush or grin in happiness.

"Come on, open it," Mia urged, sitting down next to me after having shoed Annabelle off.

I did as requested and found a beautiful wooden box with a pistol within – of finest craftsmanship. My jaw hit the table. The handle featured a delicate adornment, and my name was engraved into the slide, on both sides. The casing was polished, letting the pistol gleam silvery white in the sunlight. I stared at the side-arm for quite some time before I was able to say something. Even though it was gibberish. "Wow. This is…" I had no idea what adjective to use; the side-arm was very impressive to look at.

"You like it?" Mia asked. Before I could answer her, however, she continued, "Now that you know how to shoot – even though we still have to practice targeting – we thought it would be an appropriate gift."

I felt touched that they had thought of me when acquiring Christmas presents, even though I hardly knew them, but this was too much. The pistol had probably cost a lot of money, and frankly, I didn't deserve it. Annabelle was a much better shooter. If anyone should have this side-arm, it was her. So I said, "It's very nice of you to get me something this wonderful, but… I possibly can't accept it…" I trailed off when noticing the confused – and to a degree disappointed – expressions of the sisters and Mr. Hyde, making me feel bad at having to reject their present.

"Why not?" R.C. demanded sharply, making me flinch.

"We got it for you especially," Mr. Hyde said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, for all intense and purposes looking like he settled into a discussion with me which he intended to win under whatever circumstance. After a moment of silently staring me down with those crystal blue eyes of his, he added, "The pistol is custom-made. There's even a sight included that can be put onto the pistol to make targeting easier."

"Thanks," I mumbled, blushing. "But still, I don't deserve such a gift."

"Why not?" R.C. repeated. "Give us one good reason why. If you convince us, we _might_ consider taking it back." From what I knew of R.C., I would have guessed that she was joking, but her tone had been all level and serious. She truly meant what she had said and I was glad she did.

Still, her words left me gaping at her for a full minute before I was able to gather my wits. "Well…" I began, hesitantly, "this side-arm looks like you paid like a gazillion dollars on it. I can't accept something that expensive."

Mia laughed in obvious relief. "If that's your only concern… Chloe, we didn't spend a single cent. We built it ourselves. Though, don't worry, it's safe for you to use it without fearing it'll explode with the first shot you fire."

"But…" I tried to protest.

"No buts," Mr. Hyde sternly said. "That pistol is for you and you're going to keep it – or I'll show you what it means to be on the other side of a weapon."

R.C. reached across the table to swat him on his shoulder while Mia said, "Don't listen to that old slagger, Chloe. He's only exaggerating. He wouldn't have helped making the pistol if he intended to shoot you. Besides, he'd never hurt a fly, least of all you." She was still laughing, her blue eyes twinkling.

Ignoring the snorts coming from R.C. and Mr. Hyde, I looked back at the side-arm I still held. Well, maybe I could keep it; after all, they had tried hard to make me happy. "Thank you. All three of you," I said, deciding to accept the gift.

"You're welcome," R.C. replied with a warm smile.

"Leave the pistol with me though," Mr. Lennox said when I carefully put it back into its box so that it didn't get a scratch; he had obviously followed our… discussion. "I doubt your parents will be happy for their daughter bringing home a side-arm."

"Yeah, probably," I agreed, grinning at the mental image of Mom freaking out over me holding a pistol like it was natural.

Mia added, "Since we're having shooting lessons here anyway, you won't have to bother taking your pistol with you every single time." Turning to Mr. Lennox, she said, "Good call, Will."

"Why thank you," he replied dryly, his tone full of sarcasm. All five of us burst out laughing.

At one point in the general chaos of present-exchanging Jack got up, walked around the table until he stood next to me and handed me a little package. "I've made it myself. I hope you like it."

I was surprised to receive something from him too. "Thank you," I literally breathed, touched. However, when I reached out to take my present, Mia's expression turned to one of horror. I was confused. What the…? Glancing over to where Mr. Hyde and R.C. still sat, I noted that their expressions were identical to Mia's.

Suddenly, someone shouted, "Don't touch it!" but they were too late.

The moment Jack dropped the package into my hand, it went off violently. The explosion ensuing resembled fireworks used for the New Year's Eve celebrations in Washington D.C. Jack took the heat of the explosion, leaving me relatively unharmed. I was only thrown back into my seat, the weight of the explosion making it sway dangerously, but it didn't topple over. The air was pressed out of my lungs, but it was not a long-lasting effect. Jack, however, was thrown backwards onto the ground. He even skidded several inches away from us. Though, instead of exclamations of pain, there was laughter coming from him, bordering on insane. I blinked and coughed a few times, waving my hand through the air to clear the last of the smoke.

Mr. Hatchett was at my side immediately, inquiring whether I was all right while his hands flew over me, searching for damage. Once he had made sure that I was fine – apart from the shock – he went to help Jack. He crouched over him for a moment, then helped him get up again. Apparently, Jack hadn't received any lasting injuries either. Among the still on-going laughter of Jack I thought I heard Mr. Hatchett muttering something that sounded like "lunatic." He led his co-worker back to his chair.

One by one the others woke out of their stupors. I coincidentally was looking in Mr. Prime and Mr. Prowl's direction when the latter exclaimed rhetorically with a roll of his eyes, "Will he ever learn?"

Mia snorted loudly. "We're talking about Jack here, Prowl."

Mr. Lennox – all in colonel-mode since the incident – stood next to Mr. Hatchett to ensure Jack was really all right. (Jack had finally stopped laughing like a scientist gone crazy, but his expression was still beyond… sanity.) "What have you been thinking?" he inquired.

"I only made a candle for Chloe…"

R.C. snorted while Mia said, "Out of metal? Jack, candles are made of wax."

He blinked in her direction, momentarily looking like an owl. "Really? I had no idea…"

"That's what research is for, Jack," Mr. Hatchett lectured sternly.

"You could have asked me," Mia said.

"I showed it to you," Jack argued weakly while being looked over by Mr. Hatchett.

Mia countered, "But you didn't say what it was supposed to be when I asked. Or that you planned on presenting it to Chloe. You were already in your 'phase' again, plotting the next explosion."

Jack scratched his head, a bit bashful, amidst the laughter of everyone else. Eventually, he locked eyes with me and said, "My apologies. I'll make you another one."

"Thank you, but it's really not necessary," I hurried to reply. "I don't want you to get hurt again. Besides, it's the thought that counts."

His answering smile was full of gratitude before he grunted in pain at the smack against his head Mr. Hatchett handed out with enthusiasm.


	12. Amity to Kin III

**Author's Note:** Wow! Thank you so much to the many lovely reviews you left for the last chapter. Each and every one made me smile widely. I'm really glad you liked the second part of "Amity to Kin."

As for the third (and final) installment: it was a nightmare to write. My (barely recovered) muse and I had to deal with two sets of stubborn twins, an overly emotional Chloe, her mother being moodier than usual, Prime being extremely ineloquent, and another (this time thankfully only brief) writer's block on top of that. The more I'm glad I got the chapter knocked out in time for the holiday season. I had planned on putting it up before Christmas, but then I was bogged down by the flu which I seem to get annually around Christmas. *sighs* But here we go now; better late than never, right? xD

Thus said, I hope every one of you had a merry Christmas and is able to enjoy the remaining week of this year. I wish you all a very happy New Year 2012! :) Hope to see you again in January when the story starts to unfold its mysteries. *hinthint* ;)

* * *

><p>– chapter eleven –<p>

**Amity to Kin (3)**

To break the silence that then fell over the party, R.C. clapped her hands in a business-like fashion and exclaimed enthusiastically, "Now that all presents are exchanged and unpacked, it's time for _the_ tradition of Christmas: kissing under the mistletoe." Her expression turned especially gleeful when she glanced at Mr. Hyde.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Not a chance," he said darkly.

Mia got up and danced over to him. "Don't be a Grinch, lover-mine. No one is reluctant but you." She positioned herself directly in front of him, supporting her weight on his chair's armrests. "You aren't shy when it's just us," she literally purred into his face.

Annabelle deadpanned, "If you have to traumatize someone, take it to the beach. There's no one there."

Mia turned around and casually made herself comfortable on Mr. Hyde's lap, ignoring the glares she received from him. "Admit it, you're just jealous."

Annabelle snorted. "There's nothing to be jealous of," she retorted. "As much as I love Hyde, I'm glad he isn't _my_ boyfriend or – even worse – mate." She shuddered.

R.C. snorted but hurried to hide it in a cough when both Mr. Hyde and Mia turned to glower at her. Then Mia looked back to Annabelle and calmly asked, "So you think my mate isn't worthy being jealous of?" But the underlying threat was clearly audible. The atmosphere of the party cooled down by several degrees. Everyone's attention was on the developing argument. From somewhere to my left there came sniggers, not at all sounding as if the person issuing them even tried suppressing them.

"That's not what I said," Annabelle defended herself.

"That's what I heard," Mia retorted.

"Stop it, guys," Mr. Lennox ordered but was ignored.

"All I said was that I'm glad he's not my partner," Annabelle returned.

Before Mia could say anything else, Mr. Prime said authoritatively, "Mia, stop it. And you too, Annabelle. Don't let this grow into an argument with hard feelings. You two are friends. And this is Christmas." He threw a pointed look in my direction for a moment before adding, toward Annabelle and Mia, "Now let's continue to enjoy the celebrations. I believe there are a few kisses due under the mistletoe." His expression was neutral to the point that it looked carefully masked to hide any and all emotions, but the smirk in the direction of a darkly glowering Mr. Hyde was nonetheless clearly palpable.

The latter promptly said, "You can't order me."

"Actually, he can. He is Prime," Mia reminded him softly, her fingers gently tapping along Mr. Hyde's neck.

"Come on, Hyde, don't be a Grinch," Mr. Lennox said. "Just give Mia the kiss and get it over with. You won't be able to leave the party otherwise."

Mr. Hyde actually growled. "I remember a day several years ago when you, Colonel William Lennox, put the fear of Primus in me for enjoying some quality time with my mate. And now you practically order me to kiss her in front of everyone? There is no logic in that."

Mrs. Lennox giggled. "Hyde, it's just a kiss. You're not getting intimate."

At the same time, Mr. Lennox said, "It's an old tradition. It's not supposed to be logical."

Mia stood and grabbed Mr. Hyde's hands, trying to pull him out of the chair. "Come on, warrior. It's just a kiss." But even though a few people started cheering to encourage him, Mr. Hyde was still reluctant to comply with everyone's wish.

Then one of the twins threw in, "Let's leave him be. That rusty tin can is getting too old for knowing how to make his mate happy."

There was a brief moment of absolute silence, then Mr. Hyde roared loudly, "_Did you just call me old_? Wait till that rusty tin can catches you and hangs you up by your aft!" He freed himself from Mia and made a beeline for the twin that had spoken – Mr. Sides if I wasn't mistaken. The twin cackled gleefully for a while, but then hurried to get out of Mr. Hyde's reach, running in the direction of the garage. Mr. Hyde followed, continuously demanding Mr. Sides to stop and take the insult back. The others laughed at the exchange – except Mr. Prowl who looked about ready to arrest the two. Mr. Prime put a hand on Mr. Prowl's lower arm, however, and silently shook his head at him. Mr. Prowl sighed and hid his face in his hands, mumbling something I didn't catch.

Ignorant to the exchange at the head of the banquet, Mr. Lennox said, "All right, if Hyde and Mia don't want to be first…" He grabbed his wife and – holding a mistletoe over their heads – kissed her passionately. Everyone applauded and-slash-or whistled. Only Annabelle groaned and rolled her eyes at the display of love. After having been released, Mrs. Lennox blushed but grinned goofily. "Now it's your turn, Epps," Mr. Lennox said and handed the mistletoe over to his colleague who quickly followed his superior officer's example.

When they ran past us, my attention got diverted from the mistletoe-kissings to Mr. Hyde still pursuing Mr. Sides all across the backyard. Watching their interaction, I realized the two weren't really chasing each other. Mr. Sides was too slow to let it look like he was running away from Mr. Hyde, and Mr. Hyde didn't put a lot of effort into catching Mr. Sides either. Apparently, they were just putting on a show, maybe even staged by Mr. Hyde to get around the mistletoe tradition. I chuckled.

When Mr. Hyde and Sides vanished behind the house – probably for another round of 'chase' across the front yard – peace returned at the table. Small conversations erupted here or there with the people making themselves comfortable in their chairs. The kids already played with their presents, under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Epps and Mrs. Lennox. Annabelle walked over to Mia, and after a little exchange, the two hugged and laughed again. I made myself rare, needing to use the lavatory.

Upon my return to the backyard, my eyes instantly fell on the younger set of twins huddled together, a little away from the banquet; I remembered that they'd been introduced as Skids and Mudflap to me, with the whispered warning to be careful around them as they were as talented in pranking people as the older set of twins. Currently, though, they were laughing and loosely pointing in the general direction of the front yard, obviously cracking up at their co-workers' antics. When they noticed me looking at them, they quickly strode over to me, their expressions changing from playful to determined.

_Oh boy…_

"Yo, Chloe, whassup?" one of them asked.

While I pondered what to answer, the other twin said, "She wan's a kiss from me o' course. Under da mistletoe." He threw a suggestive glance in my direction and wriggled his eyebrows.

I froze; maybe if I no longer moved, they'd lose interest and leave. That sort of tactic worked wonders for several species that were prey for other animals…

"Don't be ridiculous," Annabelle suddenly said and appeared next to me. In that moment I would have sworn the angels had sent her to my rescue.

The first twin addressed her. "You wan' a kiss from me too?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Now stop it. You're scaring Chloe."

"Weez not scarin' anyone," the second twin said solemnly while the first added, "Weez never hurtin' a fly, so weez not hurtin' Chloe."

"Hurting someone isn't the same as scaring someone," Annabelle pointed out.

"Dat's wha' you sez," the first twin countered and the second one, grabbing my hand, exclaimed in finest British English, "They may seize; On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand; And steal immortal blessing from her lips; Who, even in pure and vestal modesty; Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin."

Confused, I glanced at Annabelle.

"Guys, that's hardly the time to quote Shakespeare," she said. "Chloe doesn't want a kiss from any of you. And neither do I."

Ignoring us, both of the twins swiftly pulled out mistletoe from their pockets. "No escape," they sing-sang gleefully to which Annabelle only sighed.

I glanced around, frantically looking for a chance to get away from them, when I spied Mr. Sides and Mr. Sunny coming our way (apparently, the faked chase was already over). "Did I hear the magic word 'mistletoe'?" Mr. Sides asked.

"I heard it too," Mr. Sunny said, nodding. "Looks like we're about to get kissed."

Halting their pursuit, Mr. Skids or Mr. Mudflup turned in the direction of the newcomers and indignantly said, "Weez been here first."

"Yeah. Weez da ones dat get kisses," the other one added.

The older twins snorted. Mr. Sunny said, "Don't be stupid. The femmes aren't interested in you two," and Mr. Sides added, "Yeah, they're interested in us." As quick as lightning, they weaseled through to us, effectively outmaneuvering and holding off Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap who loudly complained and threatened bodily harm – which Mr. Sides and Mr. Sunny completely ignored (if anything, they found humor in the younger twins' threats). Mistletoe then appeared in their hands like out of nowhere. Glancing at Annabelle I noticed all she was doing was rolling her eyes, totally relaxed, while I myself fought the slowly rising panic. I didn't want to kiss or be kissed by any of these four. I carefully took a step backwards.

We were saved – for now – by one of the younger twins. "Yous stealin' our kisses," he complained loudly, balling his hands to fists, raising them to fight if need be. "We not allow dat." The tone didn't sound really dangerous, but there was determination audible in the words.

"Right, we not allow dat," the second twin said, imitating his brother in posture.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Mr. Sunny asked haughtily. Not waiting for a reply, he and his brother turned their attention back toward us, taking another step forward while I backed away again. Annabelle remained where she was, huffing in growing irritation.

Before she could say something, though, Mr. Sides suddenly looked down to where he held the mistletoe in his hands – before shaking it wildly in obvious disgust. I thought I detected something small and black moving within the green. But just when I was about to really see what the object was, it was flung off in a wide arc and disappeared beyond the veranda.

"What the—?" Mr. Sunny began but was interrupted by Mr. Sides who let loose a short but quite girlish scream before pointing at his brother's mistletoe. Mr. Sunny glanced down and then threw the branch away – accidentally smacking Mr. Side (who had come closer trying to help his brother get rid of whatever inhabited the mistletoe) right into the face. The siblings started arguing with each other, but when they noticed Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap sniggering, they focused on the younger twins.

My entire attention was drawn to the older set of twins now sort of stalking the younger ones who were not paying attention to the looming danger. The entire scene looked kind of funny, but I was worried that Mr. Sunny and Mr. Sides weren't just fooling around and going to hurt their younger co-workers – and all over some stupid kiss under the mistletoe. Without warning, they then got down to business quickly, lunging forward and thus catching Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap off-guard. To my surprise, the younger siblings were able to free themselves before being taken into a headlock and hurriedly fled the scene. Mr. Sunny screamed bloody murder and ran after them, Mr. Sides hot on his heels. Before they were out of hearing distance, I thought I heard Mr. Skids crying something along the line of "Weez 'bout ta get offlined!"

Annabelle sighed. "Knuckleheads, all four of them." Then she sprinted after them, shouting, "Sunny, Sides, don't kill them!"

Her shout caught the attention of everyone else. Mr. Lennox and his co-workers immediately went after them in an attempt to stop Mr. Sunny and Mr. Sides from getting their hands on Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap. But even with nine people they weren't really successful as both sets of twins seemed to have a talent for getting out of harm's reach before being cornered.

To the horror of Mrs. Epps, her boys found the chase to be fun. Probably believing it was time for a game of tag, they jumped up enthusiastically (without a second thought abandoning their newly received toys) and quickly went into pursuit of the twin brothers. As soon as Mrs. Epps noticed the absence of her sons, she handed Akeela over to Mrs. Lennox and followed the boys, trying to catch her offspring before harm befell them. But Daniel and Graham were too agile and slipped out of their mother's grasp several times, laughing excitedly at so much action. That running in-between adults who either didn't care about the kids' safety or simply didn't see them was dangerous didn't even seem to register with them. Not being able to watch Mrs. Epps struggle any longer, I decided to help her, but when making a direct beeline for Daniel, I had to hurriedly jump out of the way before I got knocked over by Mr. Sides who wasn't looking where he was going. Luck had it, though, that I could catch Graham not a moment later, so I quickly returned to the table, handing the boy over to Mrs. Lennox's care.

As soon as I had retreated to safety, the worst of the 'chase' seemed to be over. Mr. Prowl was giving a stern lecture to Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap – flanked by Jolt and Jack – while Mr. Hyde physically held the older twin brothers off with a glare that promised bodily harm if they moved so much as an inch. Mia stood to his side for a while, but when Annabelle signaled her, she went with my friend. They exchanged a few words and started roaring.

Once again the feeling of loneliness soared through me. Watching Annabelle and Mia showed how close they were; often they looked like they were sisters rather than just being friends. I wanted to have the same. Even though I'd get a little sister next spring, we would be fourteen years apart. She and I, we would never be close enough for me to feel like I could share all my secrets with her. I had always been alone – and I would always be.

Annabelle lifted an arm and waved to me, a grin on her face. I returned the gesture, but Annabelle was engaged again in her conversation with Mia. My arm sank back to my side. My friend was a lonely child, like I still was, but different to me she had great friends in her father's co-workers who seemed to dote on her very much; that much was obvious after today. Suddenly, I wished I could change places with Annabelle, be in her stead. And then I realized that I really was jealous of her. Was that a bad sign for our friendship? I liked her, I really did, but I also wanted to be her.

When someone suddenly said, "You're sitting all by yourself. What's wrong?" I nearly jumped out of the chair into which I'd just plopped in a minute ago.

Trying to hide what I'd been ruminating about, I blinked away the tears that had started to well up. "Nothing really," I mumbled. "I'm just… well, thinking you could say." I wasn't really lying, but I wasn't entirely truthful either. Needing to know who I was talking to, I glanced to my right. My heart stopped beating again: Optimus Prime himself had sat down in the chair next to me.

And he was looking at me. "What about if I may ask?" he politely inquired, still leaving me the chance to not say anything at all in response. I could remain silent and he wouldn't be disappointed about it.

I blushed and quickly had to look away. "Everything and nothing in particular," I said vaguely, but then added, "Well, I'm trying to figure out what exactly happened earlier, why Mr. Sunny and Mr. Sides suddenly seemed intent on killing their co-workers. It just… doesn't make sense to me."

He didn't answer for a while, so I glanced at him again. He smiled slightly. Only once he knew I was looking in his direction, he said, "Skids and Mudflap pranked them, hiding spiders in Sunny and Sides' mistletoe. The two have an aversion against all kinds of insects."

I involuntarily snorted. On his questioning look I said, "'Aversion' is putting it mildly. The way they tried to get rid of the mistletoe… I'd say they were scared." He tipped his head in acknowledgement, and then I realized he had only wanted to be nice when talking about his co-workers to a stranger. I could have slapped myself in that moment, but refrained. The embarrassment was still visible in my cheeks. I didn't dare meet his eyes again.

After some moments of silence, he asked, "Are you enjoying tonight?"

That was a safe topic to talk about. "I am indeed; it's a wonderful dinner." I smiled. "Though, I am also trying to sort of compare this year's Christmas to the celebrations of previous years." I paused, wondering if he even cared and really wanted to know. Often people just asked rhetorically to pretend they were interested in learning more about you. But when I risked another glance in his direction, I only saw curiosity in his expression. His blue eyes were calmly hefted on me, patiently waiting for me to continue, not speaking at all. So I said, "You know, I'm used to Christmases being different to… that." I gestured across the backyard where people milled and chatted. Annabelle now stood with R.C. and Mia, all three of them laughing. Mrs. Lennox and Mrs. Epps were amiably chatting over on the veranda whereas Mr. Lennox and Mr. Hatchett appeared to be deeply immersed in a heated discussion. On the other side of the backyard I spied Mr. Prowl now keeping a watchful eye on both sets of twins, the younger set watching with interest how Mr. Epps played airplane with Daniel and Graham while Mr. Sunny and Mr. Sides looked sullen.

"To what conclusion did you come?" Mr. Prime asked after a moment, diverting my attention back to him and our conversation.

Remembering my past Christmases, I explained, "Well, for one, there should be snow. Christmas without snow is like summer without sun. There used to be _tons_ of snow one year. But here it's just… humidity. It's way too warm for snow." I sighed. "It doesn't feel like Christmas and…" I trailed off, blushed and looked at him. _Well done, Chloe_, I thought when I remembered who I had ranted to.

To my surprise, he didn't seem to mind my babbling. However, he wore a confused expression, all the while regarding me pensively. I thought he was a master at multitasking facial expressions. "You miss your former home," he eventually said. It sounded like it was supposed to be a question rather than just a statement.

Realizing he was right and that, deep down, I did miss being in D.C., I merely nodded, unable to verbally agree when threatening tears nearly choked me.

He sent me a comforting smile. "I can sympathize with that. I too miss mine."

"Really?" I asked, curious. But I also felt bad for him. Maybe I could distract him a bit… "Where did you come from? Before coming to Diego Garcia I mean?" His eyes met mine head on, making me blush again. I still dared to say, "My guess is Southwest."

That seemed to surprise him. He blinked. "Southwest?"

Shrugging, I replied, "Sure."

"Southwest of what?"

"The southwestern states of course." _Duh!_ Everyone knew that – he, though, obviously not so I explained, "Well, I mean states like Texas, or Arizona, or Oklahoma… although, the latter is rather center, I suppose…"

"What makes you think I come from the Southwest?" he asked. Did I detect a hint of amusement in his voice?

Wondering if he only pretended not knowing or really had no idea, I pointed to his cowboy hat. "Your attire," I said. "You look like a cowboy – at least partly. I've never met another person dressed like you in everyday life if he isn't a cowboy for real." To make sure I had made the right assessment, I gave him a thorough glance over. Nodding to myself, I continued, "I don't think you're a _real_ cowboy; if you were, you'd not be here. But you grew up knowing that one day you will be one, and that's people from the Southwest."

His lips twitched, like he tried to fight back the need to laugh. "Interesting reasoning."

Grinning at having succeeded distracting him from his dark thoughts, I asked, "I'm right, right?"

"No."

My face fell. How—? "Damn!"

He chuckled.

"So if not from the Southwest, where _are_ you from?"

He sent me a mysterious smile. "That, I'm afraid, will have to be answered another time."

Mrs. Lennox suddenly called down the veranda, "Chloe, I just spoke to your parents. They're wondering when you'd come home."

Taken aback, I glanced at my watch – and received a surprise: it was just short of midnight. I hadn't even noticed when night fell. The day had passed way quicker than I had imagined._ Time to go home_, I thought, feeling a little sad that the Christmas dinner was coming to an end. "Goodnight then, I suppose," I said and turned back to Mr. Prime. He nodded briefly in acknowledgement, but didn't speak. Immediately afterward, he rose and walked over to Mr. Lennox and Mr. Hatchett. It was odd that he hadn't verbally reacted to my farewell, but I shrugged it off. After all, even after today, I was only a stranger to him.

Mr. Hyde appeared on the veranda. "Come on, I'll drive you home," he gruffly said. Grabbing the presents I had received – minus the pistol which I would leave with Mr. Lennox – I hurried over to him.

Annabelle was inside, in the kitchen. I said my goodbyes when we passed by. "It was a nice dinner. Thank you."

"No, no, thank you. It was nice having you here." She hugged me which I returned as good as I could without letting the presents fall down.

"See you in school if not earlier already," I said, feeling a little subdued. After today New Year's Eve would be boring, but I knew the Lennox's were having guests again to celebrate the change of year. "Have a nice party next week."

She grinned. "Actually, would you mind coming? Dad invited your parents when you arrived this afternoon and, well, your father wasn't averse to the idea. He wanted to talk to your mother first though."

That was a surprise! "Wow. That would be awesome."

"My thoughts exactly. Talk to your parents again and let me know. Just call."

"Will do. See you!"

Mr. Hyde's pick-up was parked in front of the Lennox's garage. He opened the door for me, then walked around to get in himself. Before I could climb into the monster truck, however, I heard someone call my name. Turning around, I saw Mr. Prime coming over.

When he was at my side, he reverently said, "I wanted to thank you."

To say I was baffled was the understatement of the year. "Thank me? For what? I didn't do anything."

He only sent me another mysterious smile. "You did more than you realize. I am looking forward to our next meeting. Goodnight, Chloe." And without another word he turned around and walked back into the house.

The drive home happened in silence. I was still pondering over what Mr. Prime could have meant with his farewell. Besides, it was just Mr. Hyde and me this time. I hardly knew him, so what was I supposed to talk to him about? It took him only about ten minutes to drive to my home anyway; there just wasn't enough time to start a conversation.

Mom and Dad sat on the living room couch, watching a romantic comedy, but both looked up when hearing me dispose of my presents on the cupboard in the hall. "Hey, darling. Did you have a nice dinner?" Mom asked.

I nodded. "Very nice. And look, I even got presents." I grabbed the box Annabelle had given me and walked over to my parents. Setting it on the couch table and taking off the lid, I showed them. Mom and Dad's expressions were at first curious, but became confused when they saw the 'toys.' "Nice," Dad commented, taking one out. He frowned while regarding it closely; it was a jeep. "Who gave them to you?"

"Annabelle. And they are nice indeed. Check this out." I took the blue motorcycle and bumped it on the table, letting the robot spring out.

Mom gasped and froze, shock clearly written all over her face. I threw Dad a worried glance, but before neither he nor I could say something, Mom's hands went to her tummy, stroking it lovingly. She relaxed again. "Sorry, she just kicked me." Dad threw Mom a funny look, but didn't comment.

Instead, he turned back to me. "And do you know why she would give you such nice… action figures?"

I shrugged, putting the robot back to motorcycle form and laying it back into the box. Dad handed me back the jeep. "It's Christmas, that's why. It was a gift." I shrugged again. Taking the box, I turned to go. "I probably won't play with them but put them as models on a shelf or in a cabinet. They're too fragile to be anything else but models." Dad slowly nodded, relief written over his face. His silent reaction confused me, but I was too happy after today to wonder about Dad or Mom. "I'm going to bed; if you'll excuse me…"

"'kay. Night, hon. Sleep well."

"Thanks, you too."

…

The next morning over breakfast Mom and Dad told me they'd accepted the invitation for the New Year's Eve party at the Lennox's place. I was ecstatic and flew on cloud nine. Having dinner on Christmas Day and celebrating New Year's Eve with awesome people was like a dream becoming reality. It was one of the best holiday seasons I have ever had.

The week until the party passed in a blur. R.C. came over twice for the tutor sessions. Normally I would have hated studying when school was out, but it was only thanks to her that my Spanish actually improved. Besides, there was lots of free time and fun activities during the rest of the week. One day for instance Annabelle and I went swimming, on another one my parents invited her to dinner, and a third day was spent at the Lennox's place with another round of shooting practice. I used my new pistol, and the sight really made it easier to actually hit the target. After a very successful afternoon I couldn't thank Mia and R.C. – and Mr. Hyde, who was absent today – enough for their wonderful gift.

"And you thought about not accepting it," R.C. said, brushing off what felt to be my one hundredth 'thank you' before it even left my mouth.

I blushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, well…"

Mia interrupted me by crushing me against her side in a hug. "That'll teach you to accept gifts without hesitation the next time, eh?"

I could only nod in agreement, but with a wide grin.

Well, and before I could fully realize it, the year came to a close, and we drove over to the Lennox's for the party.

Upon arrival, a couple of guests were already there. There was music coming from a stereo mounted on a table on the veranda, little groups of people milled about and chatted animatedly. Mr. Skids and Mr. Mudflap were twisting and turning around in an attempt to dance. I bit back a laugh; they looked hilarious. But they didn't seem to care, instead having fun.

When Mr. Hatchett caught sight of us, he came over. "Lieutenant, Private," he greeted my parents. "Chloe." I nodded at him and he turned back to Mom. "How are you doing?" His eyes fell on her growing baby belly.

Mom stroked it. "Quite well – all things considered. Thanks."

Mr. Hatchett continued staring at Mom's belly and I glanced at Mom, but she was relaxed. Eventually, he looked up again, meeting Mom's eyes. "Good to hear. Let me know if you need anything."

Mom's expression turned slightly flustered, but before she could say anything, Dad put a hand on her lower arm and said to his colleague, "Thanks, we will."

Mr. Hatchett left us alone then and Annabelle sauntered over. She chatted a bit with my parents before pulling me away for some girl time. Seeing that Mrs. Lennox approached my parents, I knew they were going to be taken care of and I could go with my friend without a second thought. We went to the beach and talked about anything and everything while cooling our feet in the surf.

Dinner was served not an hour later. There was steak and sausages, fish and chips, vegetables of all kinds, potatoes and rice… and lots more. I wondered how we were supposed to eat it all; it looked like an entire battalion could be fed with the amount of food Mrs. Lennox had prepared. Though, in the end we managed, leaving little to nothing at all. Night had fully set a while ago, but with lots of lanterns hung all over the veranda and backyard, we had enough light to see. In addition, the lampions created a celebrative atmosphere during dinner. Afterward, we relaxed with ice cream and festive music. When midnight neared, sparkling wine was served; even Annabelle and I were allowed some.

Once everyone had a glass in hand, Mr. Lennox caught our attention by clanging against his glass with a spoon. "It's time for a toast, I believe." He checked his watch before looking toward the head of the banquet. "Optimus, would you do the honor?"

Mr. Prime followed the invitation suit and raised his glass. "My dear friends," he began, smiling at everyone around the table. "Another year has passed, and everyone who was here in the last year still is. I am very glad about that." His gaze fell on Mr. Hyde who returned it with a shrug and expression that seemed to say 'Wasn't my fault.' Mr. Prime continued, "In addition, over the last couple of months, our family grew." He looked toward where I sat, raising his glass a little in acknowledgement.

I was floored. He believed me to be a part of the 'family'? That was tremendous! The thought of being kin to them was really heart-warming. Annabelle sitting on my right sent me a wide grin which I returned. Then an idea struck; being part of the family meant Annabelle was my quasi-sister. Awesome! With her as my sister I'd never again have to be jealous of her. I felt like I just won the largest jackpot ever.

Interrupting the train of thought before it could stray off too far, I turned my attention back to Mr. Prime's toast. However, it was my friend who spoke next. "Thank you, Optimus."

"No, I have to thank you, Annabelle—"

Time seemed to have stopped moving, and I felt like the ground had opened beneath my feet to swallow me whole. Mr. Prime had not meant me? But he had been looking in my direction… Glancing up toward the head of the banquet, I noticed that Mr. Prime was keeping eyes locked with Annabelle. Not with me. He only smiled at her. This would mean he didn't consider me being a part of the 'family.' I wasn't worth being considered kin.

Fighting against the tears that threatened to well up, I focused on the still on-going speech, trying to not think about the immense disappointment and the pain in my chest. "Sadly, not everyone of our family can be here today," he was just saying, "but they are with us in our thoughts – and I am certain we are in theirs. Let's toast on kinship and health."

"And that the next year will be as peaceful as this one," Mr. Lennox added. Mr. Prime acknowledged the note with a respectful nod.

For a long moment, solemn silence fell over the banquet, which was only interrupted by the sound of everyone clinking glasses with each other before sitting back and sipping of the sparkling wine.

When I fished for one of the biscuits plates, tempted to drown my sorrow in a sugar rush, Mr. Hatchett – who had been pensively eyeing Jack on his left-hand side – drily remarked, "It could be even more peaceful if a certain someone stopped blowing himself up every other week."

Jack grinned. "Now where would be the fun in that?" he asked rhetorically before nibbling on his cookie. Whilst Mr. Hatchett sent a glare toward his colleague, everyone else – except me; I was no longer in the mood to be happy – burst out laughing.

"Speaking of explosions," Mr. Prowl spoke up from next to Mr. Lennox with a demonstrative look at his watch. "In a few moments it's midnight so let's move over to the beach for the fireworks show."

The twins and Mia groaned. "You're always so pushy," Mr. Sides complained. "Will you just relax and chill?"

Mr. Sunny snorted. "Prowl and chill? Bro, Pit will rust over twice before that ever happens." The younger twins and Mia laughed at that, were wise enough, however, to quickly duck when Mr. Prowl aimed in their directions for a few clouts.

"Be glad it's Hyde doing the fireworks, and not Jack," he said in a huff when realizing he wouldn't catch them.

"Hey!" Jack cried out, much to the amusement of everyone assembled.

"And that would be my cue," Mr. Hyde remarked with an enthusiastic sparkle in his blue eyes and got up before vanishing behind the house.

I took my time with walking over to the beach. Sure, I was excited for the firework, curious to see what Mr. Hyde came up with, but there still was the miserable feeling from not being accepted in Mr. Prime's family. Annabelle was a few steps ahead but soon turned around, searching, and after having spotted me, she halted until I caught up with her. Linking her arm into mine, she said, "This is going to be great. Hyde is a pro at pyrotechnics." I mumbled some unintelligent response – at least I think I did. It prompted my friend to regard me with a worried expression. "You all right, Chloe?" she asked.

I heaved a sigh. "What must one do to become part of the family?" I inquired quietly.

She blinked in confusion. Before she could answer my question, however, my dad appeared at my other side. "Mia is looking for you, Annabelle," he told my friend. How loyal a friend Annabelle was proved when she didn't just leave, looking at me again. Her expression clearly said that she wouldn't leave while I was in this state. Dad noticed too; he said, "Don't worry about Chloe. I'll stay with her."

"I don't know, Mr. Roberts…" Annabelle began.

"No, really, you go ahead. Chloe's in best hands with me."

Annabelle squeezed my hand in reassurance before running off, still seeming a bit reluctant of leaving me behind, but also aware that I would be looked after when with my own father. Eventually, she stopped glancing back at us and vanished behind the rows of palm trees that lined the beach.

Dad had stopped walking and moved until he stood directly in front of me. "I noticed the black rain cloud hanging over your head," he said, attempting to lighten my mood with a joke. "Care to enlighten me?"

I snorted. "That's the worst analogy you ever came up with."

He grinned and linked his arm with mine just like Annabelle had done a moment ago, pulling me toward a trine of trees. He then sobered. "Seriously, what's up, hon? You were so outgoing before and during dinner, but when I looked next, you sat wrapped in silence. What happened?"

I sniffled, trying not to cry. "Remember the speech by Mr. Prime?" Not waiting for his answer, I continued, "Why did he welcome only Annabelle into his family?"

There was a moment of heavy silence. "You wish for a new family?" he asked, trying hard to keep his tone level, but I still heard the accusation behind his words.

"What?" I breathed in confusion. And then I realized how my questions must have sounded to my dad. Horror washed over me. "Oh God, I… um, well… Dad, I…" I stammered, ashamed at what I said, but I didn't know how to take it back or explain it properly.

Dad sighed, resigned. "I'm sorry, Chloe. We obviously failed you if you wish for another family."

Hearing my own father say something like that and sounding all miserable let the tears I had so far successfully held back fall freely. "That's not what I meant!" I cried out.

His expression softened. Gently, he said, "Then what did you mean, Chloe? Your statement was pretty clear if you ask me."

He was right, of course. I had been in my own bubble, chasing a dream that was unreachable, and when that bubble had turned to dust, I had drowned myself in my own gloom, no longer caring what I said and to whom I said it. And now I felt bad for having hurt Dad – and effectively Mom too, even though she didn't know about it. But no matter what I felt, I somehow couldn't find the right words to apologize to Dad and explain it all.

Despite having gotten insulted – you couldn't define it any other way, no matter how hard you tried – Dad gave me all the time I needed to gather my thoughts, and when he noticed I struggled with how to phrase things, he quietly, softly said, "Let me give you an advice: Always be honest to yourself before trying to be honest to someone else."

He was right, as usual. And I wanted to be honest. Hurting the people I loved most in my life was the last thing I wanted to do. _But you already hurt them_, a voice in the back of my mind reminded me. _You wish for another family._

No. I didn't want another family. I loved my father, loved my mother. And I loved my still unborn little sister. I was of their flesh and blood, was a part of them all. I'd never – for anything in the world – want to change that.

What I wanted was to be accepted. How I was. Annabelle had sought me out, had talked to me when everyone else shunned me away. My peculiarities didn't matter to her. Nor did they matter to R.C. or Mia. Their co-workers, too, seemed to accept me as I was. They talked to me as if I was an equal, even though they were adults and I was only a teenager. They showed me the same respect they had for each other. I didn't know what they had experienced throughout their lives, but it had forged a bond between them all. Why else would they consider each other to be of kin?

"I know what I want," I told Dad, looking up to him. "Their combination of treating each other with respect and as equals is what I want for myself."

From his expression I thought he understood what I said, but he had trouble following the details. "Let's start at the beginning," he suggested.

Sniffling again, I launched into a report of how the Lennox's were not only friends with Mia, R.C. and Mr. Hyde, but how they considered each other as a big family which included their co-workers as well. "That feeling of kinship was especially palpable during the Christmas dinner, but since they included me so enthusiastically, even gave me presents when I didn't expect to receive them, I thought I already belonged to their family too. But then Mr. Prime addressed Annabelle during his speech when he said 'over the last months our family has grown.' He didn't mean me."

Dad's expression turned understanding. He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me to himself for comfort. It helped a bit. "What you have to understand is that the Lennox's have known Prime and his family for several years. We only moved here a couple of months ago. Certainly, you and Annabelle have become great friends, and you get along wonderfully with R.C. and Mia." He unwrapped me out of the hug and moved until he could look me directly into the eyes. "But, hon, it took time for you to reach this level of friendship with the three. To further friendship to a kinship of the like Prime and his co-workers have for each other, it will take even longer. It doesn't develop all of a sudden. To be kin to someone means to fully trust them, unconditionally. Would you trust someone else outside our family with your life?"

I thought about it for a while, and when I eventually opened my mouth for a reply, Dad was smiling. Rather than answering his – rhetorical, as I suddenly realized – question, I asked in return, "Why are you smiling?"

"Because you hesitated. You didn't reply my question immediately with a 'yes.' You had to think about it which means you do not yet trust them to protect you like your mother and I do."

"You tricked me," I accused him, grumbling, the tears forgotten.

Dad had the decency to look sheepish. "All right, I admit it, I tricked you. But it made my point, didn't it?"

I had to give him that. "It did." I hung my head.

A fizzling nearby caught our attentions, and then the first firework exploded in the sky above the beach. Sparks of red and green flew in every direction. Dad put an arm around my shoulder, and together, we proceeded to the beach. "Just give it time, Chloe. You'll see; eventually, you will achieve what you want. Just be patient."

As Dad was usually right about such things, I decided to trust him in this matter too. He had just asked me to wait. Everything else would come over time. So, maybe, one day, I would truly be part of the kinship I so envied. And Annabelle would be my sister. Until then I promised to be her friend.

The fireworks continued to light up the night sky above us. There were fountains of gold and silver, eruptions in red, green and blue, and so much more. The sparks danced over the sky in a seemingly own life before slowly fading away against the darkness. The sight was amazing; Mr. Hyde truly knew what he was doing to being able to paint such wonderful pictures into the sky. There were emotions behind what we saw, and I felt them resonate deep within me.

When the firework was over, people clapped, but no one spoke. There were no wishes for a happy new year. It wasn't necessary. We knew everyone wished the others a healthy and peaceful time to come, so why say it out loud and ruin the holy atmosphere the firework had created?

I didn't realize I was crying until Dad silently handed me a handkerchief. How had a firework like this been able to touch me this deeply? I didn't even feel embarrassed by it. A positive development?

Before I could continue this thought, Annabelle, Mia and R.C. came toward us. While the sisters kept standing, Annabelle crouched down in front of where I sat in the sand. "We want to go for a midnight swim. Care to join us, Chloe?"

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see Dad smiling. "I would love to."

Annabelle's face was split by a grin. She reached out and helped me stand up. "You can borrow a swimsuit from me," she said, already walking us over to the house.

"Thanks."

Mia and R.C. appeared next to my other side. "You're welcome, dearspark," R.C. said softly.

Maybe I wasn't considered their sister yet, but all three wanted me to be among them, wanted me to be their friend. And I would fulfill that position.

Gladly.


	13. Fame and War

**Author's Note**: Happy New Year, everyone! I wish you all the best for 2012. :) Also, many thanks for the lovely reviews for the last chapter.

Without further preamble, I present to you the next chapter. We're now slowly going to unravel the mysteries. :) Happy reading!

* * *

><p>– chapter twelve –<p>

**Fame and War**

The new term held two surprises before it even really began.

The morning after the New Year's Eve party at the Lennox's place, Mom and I went to the postal office to send telegrams to our family for the New Year (our internet crashed yesterday and it would take a while until it was repaired). It was there that we ran into Cole Black. As soon as I saw him, I tried evading him by ducking behind Mom, but he had nonetheless already seen me. "Hey babe," he suavely greeted when Mom went talking to the woman behind the counter. "Happy New Year."

I sighed, mumbled a quick "To you too," and wanted to flee, but Cole grabbed my wrist and held me close.

"What's up, babe? You run away whenever you see me."

"Nothing that would concern you," I retorted. I tugged experimentally to free my wrist, but it didn't get loose. "Let go."

He tsked me. "No manners?"

I growled. "Let go or I break your arm," I threatened in my most threatening-sounding voice – which was totally unthreatening.

Cole laughed quietly, haughtily. "Amusing idea, babe. Why don't you try? I'll bet with you that you won't succeed."

"I don't bet—" I began.

He interrupted me. Pulling me even closer, he breathed into my ear, "No confidence in your abilities? If you had, you would take the bet."

I wriggled away from him and took a step back. "I don't bet in general. It has nothing to do with me having no confidence in myself." Although he was right in that regard. I would never manage to break his arm; Cole was taller and stronger – it would rather be _him_ breaking _my_ arm than the other way 'round. He needn't to know that though. No need to boost his arrogance even more.

He sighed theatrically. "What a pity. What shall I do with you then?"

"How about letting me go?" I suggested, a hint of sarcasm leaking through.

"No way!" he exclaimed, faking being shocked. "I just can't do that."

"Why not?" someone asked and we turned toward the newcomer. Upon laying eyes on her, my jaw dropped to the floor. _What the hell—?_ I wondered. A cold shiver ran down my spine; if she was here, my life would turn to the worst.

Cole still was the nonchalance in person. "What a surprise!" he said, reaching out for the newcomer with his free hand (he still held me captive and wouldn't let me go even now). "Louisa, darling. How wonderful of you to visit."

Louisa showed him exactly how much she thought she was his darling. She stalked him angrily. "You bitch of a traitor," she hissed into his face. To his defense, he didn't back away. "What does she have I don't? And since when do you like Chloe Roberts? You never liked her!"

I nodded enthusiastically in agreement, but Cole shrugged, ignoring me. "This is a small world here, babe, and a man starts to feel lonely at times."

Her eyes swiveled forth and back between me and him while she paled. "You didn't… sleep with her… or did you?" she demanded.

"_No_!" I said immediately, shuddering at the thought alone. My first time, with this asshole? Never!

Cole, however, seemed to be out for an argument. "It was such a beautiful moment. Chloe is awesome in bed." He grinned, his eyes taking on a look of blissful remembering. He was a good actor, I had to hand that to him, but at the same time I was aghast that he would lie about such a sensitive topic, and to his longtime girlfriend no less.

Louisa didn't seem to believe him, though – thankfully. She glared at me, carefully scrutinizing me for a long time, before she swiveled around to him again. Poking her finger into his rips where it would hurt most, she said, emphasizing each word, "You are so dead. Don't expect me to go out with you ever again. We are done." Turning on her heel, she left.

My heart hammered away in my chest, the sound overly loud in my ears. Did I really just survive an angry Louisa Gerber? I didn't dare breathe in relief yet, however; she could come back after all, and then I would really be dead. Tugging on my wrist again, it finally came loose. Cole was still grinning like a goofball gone mad, so I took my chance and fled. Thankfully, Mom was done with sending the telegrams and we could leave too. Only when we sat in the car and were on the way back home did I let out the breath I had held so long, slumping down in the seat.

"What happened to you?" Mom asked in surprise.

"Just had a run-in with… an old… acquaintance," I mumbled, not elaborating. Hopefully, Mom wouldn't press for more details – and she didn't. So the topic was forgotten when we arrived back home.

In comparison to this first surprise, the second one was less severe – but still… surprising.

Upon arriving at school the following Monday, I noticed a flock of students crowded outside the principal's office. I went over and stood on tiptoes to being able to see what everyone already animatedly talked about. But only when a few of the taller students stepped aside, I was able to learn the news. On the announcement board stood the following message: _Mrs. Neegale had an accident during the Christmas holidays and is therefore unable to continue teaching for a while. We are lucky that Mr. Latch volunteered to take over her position until she recovered. Be on your best behaviors. The Principal._

When stepping back to give others room to read the news too, I noticed Annabelle in the back. Going over to her, I said, "Good morning."

"We shall see how good a morning it is," she joked, before adding, "Good morning to you too." She then nodded toward the announcement board. "So, a new teacher, huh?"

"Seems this way. I'm not sure if I'll like him; Mrs. Neegale was very good."

She nodded. "I agree. But we'll have to work with him now." She sighed heavily. "And that when I just got used to her."

I patted her shoulder. "I better go now. Senora Cadina is strict about being too late to her class."

"'kay. See you at lunch then."

I still wasn't acing Spanish, but thanks to R.C.'s tutoring lessons, I was able to follow the class now. I briefly wondered whether I ever properly thanked Annabelle for mentioning to R.C. that I needed a Spanish tutor – or R.C. herself for voluntarily putting up with such a hopeless case like me. She was really patient and never shouted at me. If need be, I was sure she would go over the same grammar rule with me for weeks until I had it memorized and used it correctly. I would have failed the class a long time ago were it not for her.

The morning passed quietly; most teachers were still in holiday spirits and gave us some leeway regarding having to pay strict attention. However, in the last class before lunch break, I had world history – and met the new teacher right away.

On the first glance, he looked nice. Not overly old or still too young. He had a friendly face and open manner, greeting us amiably when entering the classroom. But something about him changed as soon as the bell rang.

He clapped his hands in a crisp fashion, not unlike military efficiency – just like I knew it from my parents. It startled a few of us, me included. "All right, everyone, my name is Brian Latch, and I'll teach you world history from now on," he told us in a no-nonsense tone, the smile from before gone from his face. "As you know, my predecessor had had an accident over the holidays and is unable to continue teaching you. I expect the same respectful behavior you executed toward her. If not, there will be consequences."

I wasn't the only one who stared. Hadn't he just been the friendly new teacher? What happened to him? Instead, there now was what appeared to be a cold-hearted person readying to unleash all our doom.

And doom came. Mr. Latch launched into his lecture without further preamble, reciting the topic as if it was a speech he had memorized. He lacked any enthusiasm, however. There was nothing that made listening to him _interesting_. That had been the big advantage of Mrs. Neegale; no matter how boring or bland a topic had been, with her enthusiasm she could motivate us to listen to her, take notes and consequently understand the bigger picture of whatever period she was teaching us. Not so Mr. Latch. If I caught it correctly, he rambled something about some politician in whatever time period, but I couldn't care any less. My classmates either, if their expressions of varying degrees of boredom were anything to go by. Thankfully, it was only so long until the bell rang, releasing us to lunch.

I met Annabelle at our usual table. She glowered at me. "What?" I asked. "Do I have something in my face?"

Blinking in confusion, she said, "Huh?" Only then did I notice that her eyes weren't on me but something beyond me.

Turning around, I saw Louisa walk by and sit down on a table two rows behind us. She had her back turned in our direction which made looking at her easy without fearing to be noticed. However, there sat another girl on the table, a classmate of Annabelle's. Heather was her name if I remembered correctly. And Heather did see Annabelle and me looking. She apparently told Louisa who twisted around in her chair to glare in our direction. I hastily sat down, turning my back on them. I still felt Louisa's eyes on me though.

"Traitor," Annabelle hissed before violently stabbing her salad.

"Sorry," I mumbled automatically, looking down to not having to look at her.

"What? Oh, no, no! Don't apologize, Chloe. I didn't mean you." There was a sigh.

"Oh?" I glanced up and met her apologetic expression, tinted with embarrassment.

She nodded in the direction of Louisa. "I meant Heather for ratting us out."

I threw a quick glance over my shoulder. Louisa seemed to be very engaged in a conversation with Heather. All you could see were quick gestures with the hands as well as heads nodding or shaking. Louisa certainly had knocked off with the girl quickly.

When I turned back toward Annabelle, she was listlessly poking in her salad and sighed several times. "Everything all right?" I asked.

Another sigh. "Not really," she confessed after a moment. "We got a new girl today. Louisa Gerber." She jerked her head toward the table two rows behind me. "She instantly hit off with Heather and her clique, like you can see right now. I fear they're going to be tight." After what Annabelle had told me about Heather, I knew this wouldn't go down well for my friend.

But maybe there was something good about the new arrival on Diego Garcia. "Maybe with Louisa being here Cole will stop stalking us," I mused.

Annabelle frowned again, this time in confusion though. "Huh?"

"Louisa and Cole are an item – or have been until he moved here." I proceeded to tell her about the encounter I had in the postal office a few days back. "So maybe with her being here now, and knowing her affection for theatrical drama, he will leave us in peace," I concluded.

Annabelle pondered that theory for a while. "I didn't know it was this Louisa who was his girlfriend," she eventually mumbled absent-mindedly. "What I wonder is: why is she here?"

I nodded thoughtfully, trying to remember from what background Louisa came. "I think her father was with the Army, but I don't know for sure. It could have been someone else from her remote family," I said, sharing my thoughts with Annabelle.

"I could ask Dad tonight whether there was a new recruit, which would legitimate her to be here."

"And if not?"

She shrugged. "Then we have a mystery to solve." She grinned, excited at an adventure.

"Mysteries are good. I love mysteries," a new yet eerily familiar voice said, scaring us both. We quickly glanced in the direction of the speaker. To our horrors, it was indeed Cole. He grinned. "Hey babe," he now greeted me, going back to completely ignoring Annabelle.

"What do you want?" Annabelle demanded.

Deigning answering her to not be below himself, he turned toward my friend. "Talking to Chloe of course. Can't you see that with your pretty eyes? Can't you?" he cooed, his voice taking on a mocking tone.

Annabelle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Move it. Can't _you_ see that we want to be left in peace from you?" she snarled, quite loudly. And sure enough, several heads turned in our direction, staring curiously at what was happening.

"Chloe doesn't want me to go, does she?" He gave me what he probably thought to be a sexy look. It made me want to puke.

"What's so hard to understand when I say 'we'?" Annabelle asked. "Chloe doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Now get lost, Black."

His expression changed from one second to the next. Glaring at her, he said, "Then why doesn't she speak for herself? Admit it, Lennox, you're ordering her around – like she's your own slave."

Annabelle turned red with fury. Before she could do something stupid, however, I got up from my chair and hissed at him, "We are friends. I'm nobody's slave. Now get lost, Cole. I'm not interested in you so leave me be." He kept staring at me like I was an alien, and my anger was replaced with embarrassment. I could literally feel how my cheeks wanted to blush violently. But I fought that down and held my ground, even though I knew everyone's eyes were on me right now.

Before a teacher could dissolve the argument, Louisa did. She had of course noticed our… discussion and sauntered over. She didn't speak at first, instead giving Annabelle a thorough glance over, before turning to me. Unconsciously, I took a step backward, didn't get far, however, when the back of my knees hit my chair. I halted and rooted to the spot. Eventually, thankfully, Louisa turned her attention toward Cole. "And why, pray tell, are you trying to hit on these two nobodies when you have me?" she asked, dangerously low.

"I'm not wanting her," he said in defense, gesturing in Annabelle's direction like she was something nasty. "Only Chloe."

Why he would be so stupid to say that to his longtime girlfriend's face – with the entire cafeteria as witnesses – was beyond me. He probably had a death wish, and Louisa looked like she was very much tempted to grant it to him. She never got around to it because, finally, a teacher appeared and, determined, marched up to us. Quickly – and to my surprise correctly – assessing the situation, she managed to talk Cole and Louisa into following her out of the cafeteria, leaving the rest of us to peacefully finish their lunch.

The only thing happening after that was Heather walking by our table and smiling haughtily down at Annabelle while, quietly, scoffing arrogantly, "Nicely done, Lennox."

…

That afternoon, R.C. and I sat in the living room for my tutoring lesson, but instead of memorizing the list of irregular verbs lying in front of me, my thoughts over and over again wandered toward Louisa and what she was doing on Diego Garcia. At one point R.C. knocked – gently of course – against my head, with every knock conjugating a verb. "Yo no trabajo, tu no trabajas, ella no trabaja, nosotras no trabajamos, vosotras no trabajáis, ellas no trabajan." Thankfully, her voice was free of anger, but I still felt guilty for not putting effort into the tutoring session.

"Sorry," I therefore mumbled, reaching out to take up the list I was supposed to memorize.

She interrupted me. "Ah. Say it in Spanish."

I sighed. "Perdone?"

She nodded, but also pinched the bridge of her nose. Taking the list out of my hands and putting it back on the table, she sat facing me and making me face her. Then she asked, "What's up Chloe? Where's your concentration?"

"Well…" I hemmed and hawed for a moment, then I spilled the beans. R.C. had been nothing but nice to me so far so I thought I could talk to her about what occupied my mind instead of irregular verbs. She proved to be a good listener, not once interrupting me. There was a moment – when I told her about Annabelle's and my speculation about why Louisa was on the island – where I thought seeing something flash in her eyes, but it was gone within a second. Her expression was otherwise unreadable, betraying nothing. "And then she and Cole were guided out of the cafeteria," I concluded my little tale.

R.C. didn't respond immediately, watching me carefully for a moment. Eventually, she slowly said, "So you're now concerned about Louisa or Cole?"

"Yes. No. I mean…" I sighed. "Well, I'm not exactly concerned about them. It's a nuisance that Cole just won't let Annabelle and me be. But I do sort of worry what Louisa will do if he doesn't stop bothering us. The way he talks to me… I'm not his girlfriend, nor do I want to be. But he just doesn't get it, it seems. And Louisa isn't exactly mild-tempered."

"So what do you suggest to do?"

I stared at her for a full minute before being able to speak again. And even then a "What?" was all I could bring out.

She impatiently waved with her hand. "Obviously, if he bothers you, you have to do something against it. What do you suggest as best course of action?"

"Uh… no idea?"

She sighed, annoyed. "Come on, Chloe, you can do better than that. Mia taught you."

I frowned, aghast. "Do you suggest shooting him?"

"Primus, no! You want to be rid of him, not go to prison for murder. What I meant is that Mia taught you that you are a strong femme…"

"She did?" I threw in and received a light smack for that.

"Of course, silly. You are a strong personality and should make use of that," R.C. said.

I blushed. "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but… I'm anything but strong. I'm weak. I'm a nobody."

"Nonsense," she argued. "You _are_ someone of worth, so stop hiding under the bushel. There are ways to make it clear to even one Cole Black that you are not interested in him. Ways with peaceful actions."

That sounded like even more work was about to be loaded upon me. "How?"

Before she could answer, however, the front door opened and Mom came home. She was oblivious of us sitting in the living room, but as soon as she walked by, she noticed us. "Oh, R.C. Nice to see you here."

"Private Roberts," R.C. greeted with a short nod of her head in Mom's direction.

"So, what are you two doing?"

"Spanish," I blurted out while R.C. said at the same time, "Nothing."

Mom frowned at my tutor, her expression clearly telling us she wasn't buying it. "Doing 'nothing' looks a bit different, R.C.," she said. She gave the room a thorough look over, taking in my books and notes lying on the table and us sitting on the sofa, still facing each other. She then frowned. Stemming her hands on her hips, she demanded, "What are you up to? You're corrupting my daughter, aren't you?"

"Mom!" I cried. Leave it to my mother to insult my tutor and friend.

R.C. got slowly up. "If you want to know, Private, no. I am _not_ corrupting your daughter with our otherworldly methods…"

"I never said that…" Mom said defensively but trailed off when R.C.'s expression didn't soften.

R.C. continued, calmly, but looking like she was fed up with Mom. "Far from it. Chloe and I were talking about a problem she encounters, trying to find a solution. Seeing that you are not interested in your daughter being able to get rid of said problem, I will now take my leave. Have a good day." And thus she stalked past Mom who stood frozen just inside the living room. Before R.C. vanished out of sight, she said to me, "Memorize that list and practice these conjugations in all tenses. I'll test you on that tomorrow." And then she was gone. I didn't even hear the door go, but the sound of her bike starting up and roaring down the street was unmistaken.

Mom and I remained where we'd been for another heartbeat, then I grabbed my books and made for the stairs. "Thanks, Mom," I said when passing her.

She whirled around, looking like a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I didn't mean to chase her away."

"No? But you just did. Just leave me alone, 'kay?" Before I stormed up the stairs, I added, "And try apologizing to her, not me." Once upstairs, I threw my bedroom door shut.

Dad came home about an hour later. He apparently met Mom in the kitchen; their voices floated upstairs. There then was a moment of silence before the phone started ringing. I heard Dad answer the call before he came upstairs. There was a knock on the door, followed by, "Chloe, Annabelle for you."

I got up from the bed, walked over and opened the door. "Thanks." He wordlessly handed me the phone before trudging downstairs again. Closing the door, I took the call. "Hello," I said, sounding as subdued as I felt.

"Hey," Annabelle returned. "You all right?" She sounded like she knew what had happened. Confirming my theory, she added, "R.C.'s been here. She told me about your mom. Did you… have an argument?"

I plopped back down onto the bed. "No, not really. I told her, sort of, to not always poke her nose into my problems."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks." I sighed. "You know, R.C. was about to tell me how to take care of Cole and his advances."

"I know. She told me so that I can tell you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. R.C.'s great like that."

I smiled. "She really is." I paused for a moment, then asked, "So, what did she tell you?"

Annabelle laughed, the mischief clearly audible, before launching into her report.

…

The next day, I met Annabelle in front of the school. After a quick greeting, I blurted out, "That's not really what she intended, right?" I felt panicky and exhausted, not having slept well last night. The plan Annabelle had laid out had caused me to get a headache, resulting in being unable to immediately fall asleep when I went to bed.

Annabelle merely laughed. "Like I said yesterday: yes, it is. Trust her, Chloe. R.C. knows what she's doing."

"But…" I looked around to see if anybody listened in before whispering, "What if he doesn't react like she said?"

"He will," Annabelle declared confidentially. "Boys like him always react the same."

Briefly wondering how she would know, I exclaimed, "I can't do that!"

"R.C. thinks you can."

"She hardly knows me!"

Annabelle pulled me toward the school entrance in a no-nonsense manner. "She knows you well enough. If it's any consolation, Mia and I think you can do it, too." I could only warble in reply and admit my defeat. There was no going back now.

The big plan came into action when we sat in the cafeteria for lunch. True to script (which he didn't even know), Cole sauntered over to us, a wide and confident smile on his lips. His eyes flashed in determination, fixed on me the entire time ever since noticing me.

Annabelle kicked me under the table. "Remember the one rule," she said in a fierce whisper. "Confidence. You can beat him with his own weapons."

Certain that I looked like I felt – scared to the very core – I watched Cole's advance until he stood in front of me. "Hey babe," he greeted like usually, but the innuendo in his tone was heavier than the last times.

When I didn't react immediately, I got another kick from Annabelle, causing me to blurt out, "Hey there." Cole stared in surprise which quickly changed to smugness whereas my friend only rolled her eyes. I wanted to say more, but I had apparently left my guts at home and only gaped like a fish out of water.

Cole didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he apparently didn't mind. He grabbed a chair and plopped down next to me. "So, seems your… _friend_ misjudged you." He emphasized the word 'friend' with an especially nasty tone before grinning victoriously in Annabelle's direction. After that he turned his attention back toward me. Grabbing my hands and holding them to his chest, he asked, "So, babe, what say you? Let's meet after school. I know the perfect place for a little… chat."

Annabelle who had been drinking choked on the water and coughed. She waved me away, however, when I wanted to get up and help her. "Don't worry, I'm fine," she brought out.

I still worried about her, though, because she just didn't stop coughing. Cole didn't seem to like that my attention was anywhere but on him, so he grabbed my chin and made me look at him. "What say you?" he demanded to know.

Gulping down my panic and taking a deep breath to relax, I answered, "Sounds… nice." That earned me another kick beneath the table and out of the corner of my eyes I saw Annabelle roll hers. Yeah, well, I admit my voice did waver. But come on, I can't change overnight. It's me we're talking about here!

Cole either hadn't noticed my uncertainty or he ignored it. His reaction was a completely different one than planned, though. Instead of him getting up and be disgusted with me agreeing to a date – forgive me, but I need to mentally puke for a moment at the idea to actually having said 'yes' – his expression morphed into one of genuine surprise before being split by a wide grin. This one was actually natural which stunned me. I hadn't thought Cole was able to feel anything besides arrogance.

Maybe this was why I suddenly wanted to do something reckless. I would never be able to explain how or why; I didn't even understand it myself. Thing was, when Cole finally got up, I jumped onto my feet too. The sudden movement made my head swirl a little, unsettling my balance. I of course sort of fell into Cole's arms. And before I knew what was happening our lips met. I would like to argue that it was him taking advantage of the situation, but unfortunately, I had to admit that it was me issuing the kiss. It had been part of R.C.'s plan, one I hadn't intended on pursuing, but there seemed to be a higher might that wanted to corrupt me.

To my utter horror, Cole seemed to enjoy the kiss, deepening it rather than pulling away from me like we had counted on him reacting. The idea of the entire plan had been that Cole was only hitting on me because I reacted defensively to his advances; R.C. and Annabelle thought that he wasn't interested in me, that he only wanted to have some fun, and I presented an easy prey to play with. He would therefore be disgusted if _I_ were to suddenly find interest in him and accept a date proposal. That would drive him away, leaving me in peace.

Well, as I learned, reality looked entirely different than the theory.

As if being kissed by the biggest idiot at school wasn't bad enough, the principal noticed our display of 'affection' and marched up to us. "Miss Roberts, Mr. Black, would you care to explain what you're doing?"

While I blushed furiously, feeling like I was roasting in hell already, Cole cockily replied, "Isn't it obvious, sir? Or can't you distinguish anymore two teenagers who are in love and kissing to show that?"

The principal glowered at Cole. "I take note of your confidence, Mr. Black. Now get out of the cafeteria. And hands off Miss Roberts."

"You can't deny us our love!" Cole cried out, acting the lovesick hero of whatever Shakespearean drama. I felt embarrassed at his antics, but he sent me a warm smile – which even caught my breath. Oh boy…

"I can deny the public display of it – which is what I am doing. Now stop it or it's detention." He was about to turn around and leave again when Cole did the unthinkable: he grabbed me and kissed me soundly in front of every single person present in the cafeteria. I was too shocked to defend myself, even when Annabelle's cutlery clattered loudly onto the table. Only once Cole released me again was I able to unfreeze. And whilst the principal handed out both our detentions for disregarding the school rules on PTA, Cole calmly told me, "I'll meet you after school for our date."

Within the blink of an eye, Cole was completely gone from the cafeteria, the principal running after him, disgruntled that a student had dared to defy the rules this openly and in front of him, the principal, no less.

Once everyone had calmed down again and I had plopped back into my seat in zombie-like style, I met Annabelle's incredulous stare. "What. The. _Frag_?" she eventually hissed.

Her words woke me out of my stupor. I agreed with her, but instead of saying it out loud, I grabbed my glass of water and downed half of it before using the rest to gargle to get rid of the feeling of Cole's lips on mine. I didn't even care that most of the present students were still watching me. The sensation of having been kissed by Cole was… repugnant. I mentally puked again, fighting back the urge to do it physically too.

After a while (and another kick from Annabelle; I had to ask her to stop doing that) I noticed someone standing next to our table. Glancing up I saw Louisa regard us with a haughty but angry expression. I knew why she was here and mentally prepared for the looming fight, but after an intense, long moment of staring me down, Louisa turned to Annabelle to regard her with the same unreadable expression. My friend sometimes being impulsive snapped, "What do you want?"

The silence remained for another moment, but then Louisa lowly said to Annabelle, "You do realize it's a war now, no?"

Annabelle, quick at repartee, replied, "As long as Cole is delusional enough to believe Chloe will ever go out with him, then yes. You might want to tell him that – as his _girlfriend_." The emphasis on the last word was overly audible, making clear what Annabelle thought of Louisa. "If I may give you an advice: Keep him on tighter reins or he'll run off for sure. Now hasta la vista. We want to eat in peace." She waved dismissively with a hand, shooing Louisa away.

That had the wanted effect. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Louisa turned around and departed, her nose held high.


	14. Gravity

**Author's Note:** Many thanks for the lovely reviews! My apologies that I didn't get around to answering them, but know that I read each and every review. Your feedback - as well as the story being favorited or set on alert - makes me happy. And this happy author now provides you with another chapter. :) Enjoy reading!

* * *

><p>– chapter thirteen –<p>

**Gravity**

I left school that afternoon later than usual. After I spent an endless hour with one Cole Black in detention. Alone. Well, there was a teacher keeping his eyes on us, but he didn't stop Cole harassing me with glances and gestures and little notes sent via paper planes. I was ready to curl up in my room and never come out again.

Surprisingly, R.C. was waiting for me outside. She was looking at me expectantly, though her expression displayed guilt too. "I want to apologize," she said without preamble when I reached her.

Blinking in confusion, I asked, "What for?"

"For meddling with your problem. I wanted to help, but… if anything, I only made it worse." She not only looked guilty, she sounded it.

I felt pity for her. "Thanks, R.C.," I told her. "I know you meant no harm, only well. It's okay."

She shook her head. "Thanks, but still. It was my plan that backfired," she persisted.

"But I went through with it," I argued. "I could have ignored it, but I didn't. So it's not your fault." Seeing her open her mouth, preparing for a comeback, I quickly suggested, "But if you really insist on being responsible for the situation, how about we say it's both our faults? A problem shared is a problem halved."

She smiled slightly in response before saying, "That's very noble of you, Chloe, very noble." I returned the smile.

In that moment the current bane of my existence stepped outside: Cole. As if the last hour hadn't been enough to spend in his company, he now made a direct beeline for me, not caring that I stood with a stranger, an adult no less. But today seemed to be full of surprises. "Well, well, well, if this isn't Arcee herself," he drawled. My eyes swiveled back and forth between them; he knew her?

"Black," R.C. returned monotonous. Without further preamble, she pressed a helmet into my hands, saying, "Let's go, Chloe. We have a tight schedule for today's tutor lesson."

Cole didn't hinder us climbing onto the motorcycle, but before we could head off, he said, "Don't think you'll get her. She's with me."

"Only in your dreams, Black," R.C. shot back. "Stay away from her."

I gaped at her, astounded; I'd never before heard R.C. speak this coldly to anyone. And then we were off. But no matter how fast R.C. shot down the street – me clinging to her for dear life – I couldn't forget that ominous smile Cole had sported at the very end when she told him to let me be.

When we arrived at home, I began, "How—?"

"Did I know that you had detention? Annabelle told me, so I decided to fetch you," she replied.

I shook my head and handed her back the helmet. "That's not what I meant," I said. "You seemed to know Cole Black already. Where from?"

She regarded me for a moment without speaking, then she slowly but firmly said, "The answer is – you will excuse me – none of your business." I had expected something like that reply, but it was still disappointing. I sighed but accepted that R.C. didn't want to tell me more. "Now come on," she added much softer and friendlier in tone. "There are irregular verbs waiting to be studied."

…

The next days to weeks it was always the same: After our failed plan to get rid of him, Cole tried to steal kisses from me, not caring that the public display of PTA could land us in another detention. It also seemed that Louisa watching – with a murderous expression in her eyes of course – only served to make it more exciting for him. Annabelle and I kept meeting with R.C. and Mia to plan counter-attacks, but after the last disastrous failure, I was hesitant to try something else this adventurous. After all, I didn't want to end up being kissed again by Cole.

But even with battle plans in place to elude him, he managed to corner me one day in-between classes. "You know," he began, quietly and without his usual player-tone, actually sounding serious, "you should come with me. I know of a place just perfect for you, for us. You'd never again have to be alone." He leaned closer until his lips were at my ear. He literally breathed his next words. "You would be regarded with the respect you deserve."

His words touched something inside me, but they also scared me. How did he know what I desired? Before I could say something in reply, though, the principal doing rounds through the halls spied Cole and me in the corner. He quickly marched over and peeled Cole off me. "What in God's name are you doing, Mr. Black?" he snarled. When Cole just sneered at him, he demanded, "Answer me!"

A hand on my wrist caught my attention; it was Annabelle. "Come on, let's go," she quietly said and pulled me away from the scene.

Before we rounded a corner, however, I saw Mr. Latch stand close-by, watching. His eyes weren't on Cole, though – they followed me. And as soon as he saw that I had noticed him, he sent me a smile that made my flesh creep.

Mr. Latch was another… mystery. As unusual as his first lesson had started, as unusual he continued teaching. The topics became more and more obscure. Most memorably – in the negative way – was when he lectured on Hitler during World War II. I would have understood if Mr. Latch had told us about the crimes Hitler did with murdering millions of innocent people. I would have agreed with an assessment of the like that whilst a murderer, Hitler had been a charismatic personality that managed to ensnare the Germans' minds. But I was totally baffled when our teacher told us about how great the deeds of Hitler had been.

"The Jews were weak," he lectured, catching my eyes especially and holding them the entire time. "They couldn't defend themselves. So they earned being killed. Weakness needs to be erased. Only the strong can survive." He took care to emphasize his words with measured gestures.

I wanted to look away, wanted to see what my classmates thought of his lecture, but found that I was unable to move. Him holding my eyes had me enthralled; it sounded as if his words had a deeper meaning meant for me. If so, I didn't catch it, no matter how long I thought about it. All I noticed was that his lecture left me feeling chilly all over. But I also finally heard the enthusiasm in his voice that I had missed the entire time. However, I wondered how any school could allow Mr. Latch to teach if he held such a frightening view. I immediately got an answer too; as if being able to read my mind, Mr. Latch sent me a glare that clearly told something very bad would happen if I so much as breathed a word about it.

On top of the trouble I faced at school, the situation at home had cascaded downward ever since the New Year's Eve party at the Lennox's place. Not only were Mom's mood swings increasing in frequency and force (she regularly lashed out at Dad for being overprotective, which was often followed by an immediate and heavy emotional attack with lots of tears and lamenting as soon as she laid eyes on me), but the (already very old) car at our disposal while on Diego Garcia decided to break down once a week, twice if it could manage. Unfortunately, the first incident happened when Mom drove the car to work. Thankfully nothing happened to her, apart from the shock. That there was at least a remedy for the mechanical problem eased the situation a little bit; Johnston helped out whenever he could, and I took the chance to learn more about the inner workings of a car engine while assisting him whenever I had the time.

"See this motor? That's an engine with overhead valve controlling, carburetor and breaker contact," he explained patiently one day. Taking out the air filter housing and building it apart, he showed me the fragile inner components. A thorough check proved that nothing was wrong with them – "Sometimes, manky air filters can cause heat accumulation which kills an engine." – so we proceeded to check the carburetor which was now accessible after the air filter housing had been removed.

"Let's see… oh, thank God it's a timing chain…" Johnston mumbled while bent over the motor.

"I take it there isn't always a timing chain?"

"No. A motor could also have a timing belt. You'd hear that already though. It sounds like a tire pump. If the belt breaks, the motor dies, but that obviously didn't happen here." He reached out and detached a few items from whatever.

Pointing at the piece he was holding up for closer inspection, I asked, "What are you doing right now?"

"That's the distributor cap, and it goes with this one, the rotor." He showed me. "I made sure both pieces and the ignition distributor are functioning."

I frowned. "But why?"

Putting the pieces aside and looking at me, he explained, "Process of elimination. I make sure that the usual reasons for why a motor could have died don't apply to our current case. That also makes it easier for the future."

"Because knowing what looked perfectly all right and what barely held up last time narrows it down for when the car breaks down again?" I concluded.

"Exactly." Turning back to the problem at hand, he attacked the motor with a box wrench. Unfortunately, it involved a lot of leaking oil, causing Johnston's hands to get really dirty. He didn't seem to mind though and happily continued teaching me. "The ignition distributor itself seems just fine… But see this here? The breaker contact doesn't move anymore. Now if I loosen it a bit…" Brandishing another tool like a weapon – a feeler gauge, as I'd learned a couple of days ago – he attacked the malefactor and made short process with the stubborn piece of metal. Afterward, he pieced the ignition distributor back together. "Okay, so let's see if the engine will run again."

I followed him to the driver's side, curious. Using a towel to keep the oil on his hands from smearing everywhere, Johnston turned the ignition key, and surprisingly, the engine started up again. He grinned at me which I returned with a confusing frown. "What exactly did you do?"

"I recalibrated the breaker contact, then put back the rotor and distributor cap. Normally, you'd have to set the right ignition point, but I don't have the stroboscope with me right now. We'll just have to take the car on a test drive. But before…" He got out and went back to the still open motor. I followed him.

Johnston pulled at the gas cable a few times and I inquired why. The way he roughly handled the component couldn't be good for the engine I thought. He only laughed when I told him that. "I'm not breaking it, don't worry. The cable is much sturdier than it appears. But pulling it is a good method of testing if the problem is solved. Just listen to how the engine bells without the air filters. Just like deer."

"Aha," I made, still not really convinced. Brushing the thought off, I asked, "So… can we drive the car now without fearing that it breaks down again?"

He hemmed and hawed a little while I helped him put back the air filter housing. "This is a very old car, Chloe. It should work for the moment, but I can't guarantee anything. It can break down tomorrow because there's another mistake with it, or it can drive without another problem from now on until forever. Anything can happen, but you don't have to be afraid just because. You should be fine for the time being."

"The motor might just die again tomorrow, in the middle of the road," I concluded matter-of-factly.

"Afraid so."

I sighed, but there was nothing really we could do about it. Dad had already filed an application for a new car, but with the military bureaucracy involved, it took some time longer to get an approval. According to Dad, if we were really lucky, a new car could be shipped here in about three months. If not… well, let's not go there. Positive thinking was the key. But until we got the new car, we would have to make do with the one we already had.

"Thanks for helping," I said to Johnston.

"You're welcome. Just give me a call if it happened again."

"Thanks. Will do."

…

January slowly turned into February, and before I knew it, Valentine's Day came around. I already dreaded what Cole would do if he got his hands on me. And my fears weren't unfounded.

It was in the morning, before the first class started. Upon arrival at school, I went straight to my locker to get rid of the heavier books I didn't need until after lunch. Usually, my locker was just a grayish door among many more lining the hall toward the cafeteria. However, that day it was especially recognizable thanks to a white envelope with a large pink heart. In which's middle my name stood. I nearly decided not to open the locker, instead carrying the books around all day, but I was a lazy girl that didn't want to lug around more than absolutely necessary. So I wrenched open the door – and was nearly buried by what seemed to be dozens of red roses. That wasn't the worst yet though.

The worst was a radio stashed within my locker starting to play love ballads. _Cheesy_ love ballads.

For several moments, I stood rooted to the spot, trying to decide whether smashing the locker door shut would do any good. Before I found an answer, though, I grew aware of the students assembling around myself, laughing.

"Roberts has a lover!" someone then shouted and woke me out of my stupor.

While a few guys started chanting "Roberts has a lover!" – which quickly gained followers the more students arrived at the scene – I closed my locker and fled. I supposed carrying around heavy books was the lesser of two evils.

I didn't get far, however, when the vice principal stopped my flight, standing in my way like a bodyguard. "Is that a radio in your locker, Miss Roberts?" he asked.

"Um…" I glanced back the way I came; luck had it that with the vice principal's appearance, my fellow students sought refuge in escape. At least I would no longer have an audience, were I required to get rid of the disturber of silence. Beforehand, though, I could try to reason. "It's not mine," I told Mr. Donald. "I'd never put it in my locker and set it to play when I open the locker door."

"Then who do you reckon should have done it? When you have the only key for your locker?"

He had a point. However… "Isn't there an emergency key or something in the office? Maybe someone stole it?"

Mr. Donald raised an eyebrow. "The emergency key is where it always has been since it was placed there. Now, if you don't mind, Miss Roberts, kindly get rid of the radio."

I had no other choice but to comply with the order. It proved impossible to follow, though. The radio simply couldn't be moved, let alone be taken out. I also was unable to shut it off; none of the buttons reacted. All the while Mr. Donald stood behind me, growing impatient at my unsuccessful attempts. "Miss Roberts," he said after a while warningly.

Suddenly, something inside me snapped. Rounding on him, I said, "It's not my radio, sir. I didn't put it there, nor do I have an idea how to make it stop. Do you really think I _enjoy_ staying here and listen to all those cheesy love ballads?"

He narrowed his eyes on me. "I don't care who put it there. This is your locker, so you are responsible for getting rid of it. And watch your tone or it's detention. Now silence that radio."

I was fuming with hatred. It felt as if the entire world had complotted against me. Couldn't at least Mr. Donald show a little understanding? But no, there he stood, watching me with impassive eyes. Like a drone. I wished he ran on batteries which I could easily remove to shut him off.

And then it clicked. Batteries. That damn radio probably ran on batteries!

I reached into my locker again and felt around the offending piece of machinery until I found the battery casing. I removed it and the batteries inside, and _finally_, the wretched love ballads came to an end. Silence had never been more peaceful. I closed the locker. When I turned back to Mr. Donald to – politely of course – request permission to head to my first class, I noticed Cole stand at the end of the hallway. He smiled eerily at me. I frowned darkly, but turned on the spot when Mr. Donald let me go. I would get a pass at Cole later I thought.

The 'later' came earlier than hoped.

I met Annabelle at our usual lunch table. She was just finishing up with a few math equations. "Hey," she greeted, a little absent-mindedly, but did a double take when looking at me. "What happened?"

I let my bag drop on the floor and sat down with an irritated sigh. "Cole hid a radio in my locker. It wouldn't stop playing after it started. And the vice principal thought it was all my idea."

"Oh dear."

It was nice to hear her show the compassion Mr. Donald had lacked, but I wondered about the tone. When I met her eyes, she discreetly gestured behind me. Turning around, I saw Cole sauntering my way, his expression clearly speaking of what he intended to do once he stood next to me. I inhaled deeply, made a resolve, quickly stood and determinedly marched up to meet him halfway. Before he could utter a single word, I barked, "Thanks for nothing, moron. I'll have you know that your Valentine present made me sick rather than bring joy. Can't you just leave me alone?"

He smirked. "Now where would be the fun in that?" he asked quietly and reached for me, intending for a kiss.

I slapped him across his face. Hard. "Leave. Me. Alone," I hissed, noting with satisfaction that I had caught him by surprise.

Annabelle appeared next to me, holding me back before I could scratch his eyes out or inflict other bodily harm on him, muttering incomprehensively under her breath. I thought I caught her saying "Slag," once.

Well, for me that day ended with a detention (the principal had witnessed the scene in the cafeteria) – and, thank God, a week where Cole let me be. He returned to harassing me quickly after that, though, making me miss the seven days full of peace and quiet.

If you didn't count the accident…

It happened after lunch just a couple of days after Valentine's Day, during double physics.

"All right, people, everything's set up so we can start," Mr. O'Connell announced, clapping his hands in enthusiasm. He had us do an experiment with magnets. During the first ten minutes, he had shown us the assembly plan on how to build the electric circuit, then we had gotten another ten minutes to come forward to get the necessary components in accordance to the plan on the blackboard. I was pretty fast with building my circuit and was ready to go while others still discussed with their neighbors where to put which component. Mr. O'Connell walked around and helped until everyone was ready.

From the central switch at the teacher's desk he then switched on the power. The magnets throughout the classroom charged and we could begin with our assignment.

I must have gotten a pair of quite strong magnets because after only five minutes in on the experiment, I noticed a soft tingle throughout my body. I stopped writing mid-word and stared at what I had noted down so far without seeing anything. Concentrating, I soon remembered I knew this feeling from the two hours scan in the MRT a while back. And now that I was aware of the magnetic field, the tingle grew stronger.

I picked up the pen again and finished writing, then sat back and thought of what to do now. The tingles were different to back in the MRT, but far from being unpleasant. Maybe because the magnetic field wasn't as strong as in the scanner, the sensation was more pleasant, but I couldn't be sure. Would that change if I strengthened the magnetic field?

There was only one way to find out. Carefully rearranging a few components, I rerouted more power to the magnets, and reacting immediately, the field became stronger. The tingles grew more pronounced and I sat back, letting the heightened sensation wash over me. I had forgotten all about my experimental assignment, instead relishing in the impact the field had on me. But what was the reason that I was affected in the first place?

Deciding that the magnets weren't yet running on full power, I worked on another rerouting, then sat back and just felt again.

It was an incredible sensation. The field the magnets created engulfed me and sent soft flashes through my body that set my insides on fire – but not a burning one, a good one. I felt elated and special and could just grin at my discovery, but had to refrain to not rat myself out. With scientific curiosity and interest I followed the flashes' route through my body; it seemed it affected the nervous system the most.

My thoughts drifted toward ideas of how to recreate this experiment at home so that I could take it even further, but then I realized I didn't have even half of the necessary technical components at my disposal. Gritting my teeth at the disappointment, I went back to work, only to get another strike of idea: If I finished my assignment in record time, then I would have time left to experiment with the field's strength and its impact on my nervous system.

No sooner thought than done, and I had another twenty or so minutes left until the bell rang for end of class. So I once again rerouted the power when Mr. O'Connell wasn't looking and enjoyed the sensations the stronger magnetic field caused.

The boy across the aisle noticed and asked in a hiss, "What are you doing? That's not the assignment."

I glanced over and shrugged. "I'm done with the assignment so I'm experimenting on my own a bit."

He frowned. "By… doing whatever you're doing?"

"Sure? What else should I do?" I shot back.

He ogled at me like I'd lost my mind. "That's the last class for today. Just hand in your notes and go home. Anyone would rather be somewhere else doing something fun."

"Well," I replied, "I'm not anyone else." And turning back to my current reroute of power, I ended the discussion. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed him incredulously shake his head at me before he went back to his own experiment.

I had strengthened the field about five more times when the explosion happened. There had been a slight fizzle beforehand, but I had just thought it was the result the field had on my hearing. That it was a warning that the magnets were being overheated and no longer able to process the amount of power I had running through them never even crossed my mind.

The explosion happened when the boy I had talked to a few minutes ago had gotten up to take his protocol to the teacher. And – thank God – the energy the explosion set free shot back toward me for the most part. The boy in front of me still got knocked forward and banged his head against the table, but aside from a small headache, he shouldn't have any lasting negative effects.

I, however, was thrown back against the back of my chair, making it topple over, having me crash onto the hard floor. The air was whooshed out of my lungs, and for a moment, I grew dizzy and saw stars dance in front of my eyes. I tried to blink them away and eventually was able to discern the worried look of Mr. O'Connell when he crouched over me.

"Chloe? Are you all right?" he urgently asked, touching my cheeks and forehead.

I felt clammy and a bit cold, the tingling that had been my companion for about half an hour completely gone. "I think so…" I slowly said and groaned. The back of my head where I had crashed onto the floor hurt terribly, but when I lifted my hand to touch it, I felt relieved that there was no blood. Though, I felt a violent headache coming my way.

Mr. O'Connell looked slightly relieved. "I should call the ambulance and have you checked through in the hospital," he declared.

Then Dad would know immediately. "No," I replied, struggling to sit up, feeling somewhat faint. "That's not necessary. I'm fine."

He gave me an incredulous look. "I've never seen anyone paler than you, Chloe. I'm not a doctor, but I know when I see someone not feeling well, and you definitely belong into that category. Now, if you don't want to be driven to the hospital, I'll call your father to get you. He can then decide whether or not you need a thorough check-up."

Sighing, I took his hand to help me get up. The dizziness was stronger when standing – or rather trying to stand – so I quickly sat down again on the chair Mr. O'Connell pushed toward me. With a warning glance in my direction to stay put and not pull any more stunts, followed by an address to the rest of the class ("Everyone, please return to your tasks at hand. This class isn't over yet."), he walked out to make the phone call. Well, Dad would find out sooner than later anyway, so why make this any more complicated than it already was?

Mr. O'Connell returned some minutes later. He told me my father was notified and on his way before he turned his attention to my classmates, overseeing them completing their assignments, collecting their protocols once they were done and then releasing them from the clutches of education for today. Luckily, everyone save two boys had already finished and left the room when Dad eventually turned up. Knowing me being easily embarrassed by overprotection, Dad was wise enough and held back with comments until we were alone. He therefore only gave me a quick first check-over to make sure I was halfway all right before grabbing my stuff and accompanying me to the car. Thank God, I could walk there by myself. Dad hovered close to catch me in case I did fall, but that never happened. That would have been mortally embarrassing.

Dad wouldn't be Dad, though, if he didn't make sure I was a hundred percent all right. We therefore, naturally, drove to the hospital rather than home. Before I could express my annoyance with that, however, I felt gratitude soar through me at Dad's wise foresight; the headache I had felt earlier coming my way? Well, it hit me right there and then. Extremely hard. I groaned and grimaced, grabbed my head and leaned forward.

"Headache?" Dad asked. I nodded. He took a hand off the steering wheel and felt my forehead. "Be glad it's not fever," he said after a moment. "The way your teacher described the explosion… I'm surprised you didn't lose consciousness."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," I brought out, trying to joke but failing completely.

He laughed, slightly ruefully. "You know what I mean." His hand moved from my forehead to stroke over my head, gently massaging my scalp as it went. "Try the pressure points at the temples, that usually helps soften the headache."

Because I didn't have anything else to do and wanted to get rid of the headache again, I followed his advice. The massage did help – not much, but at least a bit.

Once at the hospital, Dad of course went through every routine check known to mankind for head injuries. I was half-expecting him to tell me I was having a concussion. Nothing of that sort happened though. Instead, my headache eased a little in intensity.

I was in the middle of a head scan in the MRT (thankfully without having to be fully inserted into the tube this time) when a tingle grew in my left thigh, quickly becoming aggressive to the point of pain. I itched to scratch to get rid of it, but I remembered Dad explicitly stating to lie still, even if it was only my head that was being scanned. Well, the tingle continued intensifying until it felt like a hole was being burned through my leg right there and then. The pain was gone as soon as Dad announced we were done and I could move again, however. I quickly sat up and grabbed at my thigh, but it was no longer necessary to scratch.

Taken by surprise by my sudden movement, Dad exclaimed, "Whoa, there, Chloe, slowly." He hurried to my side. "With that headache of yours, you shouldn't rush."

And that was when I noticed my head no longer hurt. At all. I told Dad that the headache was gone, and he gave me a long pondering glance before walking me to his office and placing me on the bed there, despite my insistence that I was fine. He then took out the most basic utensils of a doctor and started a general but thorough check – including auscultation. I endured that for about five minutes before starting to argue it was unnecessary. Dad didn't listen and continued with his examination.

"Dad, I'm fine," I said another ten minutes later, for what felt to be the hundredth time ever since leaving the MRT.

He kept placing the stethoscope all over me, listening, probing… for what, I had no idea. Eventually, _finally_, he put it down and regarded me with an unreadable expression. Then he sighed. "The things you're doing, hon…"

I rolled my eyes. "It was just a little explosion, Dad…"

"I actually meant the 'itch' you reported."

I held up my hands in defense. "Hey, not my fault. But if it got rid of the headache, fine with me." He gave me a doubtful look, so I added, "Dad, I'm totally fine. There's nothing to worry about. See?" I jumped off the bed and danced and twisted through the room. "No problem at all." To be honest, I was a bit scared by that rapid recovery, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

Dad rubbed his face tiredly. "I heard that sentence often enough when people overestimate their abilities, Chloe," he mumbled. A bit louder, he added, "Look, honey, you fell onto your back. Hard. You knocked your head on _concrete_. There _must_ be something – _anything_ – wrong with you. You just don't get up and wham, are all right again."

"Jeez, Dad, thanks. Glad to know you want me to be hurt," I half-joked. Admittedly, it did hurt a lot that he wasn't happy that I was fine.

"That's not how I meant it, hon," he hurried to say. "I'm just saying it's… unnatural."

I sighed and went back to where he sat. "Dad," I implored in a serious tone, "I _did_ feel dizzy – right after. It's gone. And you know about the headache I had. But that, too, is gone. I'm all right. Please stop worrying. I will tell you when I get dizzy again or develop another headache, okay?" Since he didn't react verbally for a while, I added, "Please?"

Sighing in defeat, he relented. "All right. But promise to be more careful next time, Chloe, will you?"

"Of course. Honor bright!" I held up my hands to show that I didn't have fingers crossed behind my back.

He nodded. "Good." Standing and walking over to his desk, he disposed of the stethoscope. "Grab your bag and let's heed home."

We drove in silence. On the one hand, I was glad Dad wasn't bringing up the topic again, like Mom surely would have done it. But on the other hand, it was kind of… weird. I tried gauging Dad's thoughts, but his expression was still blank, totally unreadable for me. It made me feel bad, especially knowing he wanted only the best for me.

When he parked the car in front of the house, he didn't get out right away. He even held me back. After a moment, he said, "Let's… not tell your mother. She's stressed enough as it is, okay?"

Fine with me. "'kay."

So we went about our afternoon and evening routine like usual. I was in my room, doing homework, while Dad took care of the household. Mom prepared dinner.

It was a bit difficult to make light conversation, but Mom being oblivious found enough to inquire and talk about. Most of the time, though, she told us what the baby had been doing, kicking her here or there, doing what felt to be somersaults, and so on and so forth. As interesting as the topic was, I felt the headache returning and decided to retreat before Dad or Mom noticed something. I didn't want to risk it. So I got up from the table, put my plate and cutlery aside, and headed upstairs. "I've still got some studying to do tonight," I said as an excuse, "so I better get moving."

Mom smiled. "Good to hear you're focusing on your studies so much, hon. Don't stay up too late, though."

"I won't," I said and left them alone.

After closing my bedroom door behind me, I let out a sigh of relief and slowly sank onto the bed. My thoughts recapped the day's events while I absent-mindedly peeled off my shoes and socks. With some more struggles I then got out of my shirt and trousers. But as soon as I stepped out of the latter, I halted, staring at my hip. There, at the conjunction where my left leg and pelvis were joined, halfway hidden by my panties, was a rather long sort of sliver of metal embedded into my skin, pointing nearly vertically down my leg. The trousers fell onto the floor when my hands started to shake. Carefully I reached out and ran a finger over the sliver. It felt like metal, but I could _feel_ my touch.

Blanking everything else out, I was instantly alert and hurried to my desk. Rummaging through my drawer, I pulled out a mirror and switched on the table lamp to get a better look. To my relief, the sliver on my hip was the only one I found on my body when I thoroughly gave myself a look over.

On the downside, when I curiously and slightly scared ran another finger over the sliver's edges, I noticed it was not only firmly embedded into my skin – it seemed to have _replaced_ part of my skin.


	15. Paralyzed

**Author Notes:** Thanks to all the lovely reviews for the last chapter! I'm very sorry I didn't get around answering them, but I read them all. And I'll try and answer reviews from now on.

To answer the questions I received from anonymous readers: keep reading to find out. ;) Things will get much more interesting in the coming chapters.

And here we go with the chapter 14. Enjoy reading, and please leave a review. It'll make my day. :)

* * *

><p>– chapter fourteen –<p>

**Paralyzed**

Over the next days, I kept a close tap on that metal sliver. I took its measures but never wrote them down (out of fear Mom or Dad might discover the piece of paper, consequently questioning me about it). At first the sliver didn't change, but three days after its first appearance, it had grown over night. It had gained in length. Not much, barely an inch, but it was enough to leave me feeling uneasy and slightly frightened. A thousand thoughts seemed to run through my mind. What if the sliver grew even more? Would I eventually be covered completely by metal? Would I still be able to exist then? I remembered having read something along the line of that our skin 'breathed' too. Would I suffocate before long if my body could no longer acquire the necessary amount of oxygen? Would it hurt if I died from suffocation? On that thought I vowed to myself to consult Dad if the metal showed signs of consuming my skin entirely. Until then I needed to make sure my parents – or anyone else – didn't notice a thing. So I gulped down the fear and focused on the just made resolve. Right now I felt no pain at all. As long as it stayed that way, there was no need for panic.

During the first two weeks, hiding the sliver didn't prove difficult. It either grew very slowly or not at all. But when I woke up one Monday morning at the beginning of March, the sliver had grown drastically. Its lowest point reached as far as mid-shin. For a moment I panicked, but upon running a finger along the edge, I noticed it was like before – sensitive to touch but painless. Shaking off the panic, I got up and went to get dressed. I chose long-legged trousers, despite the heat outside. The material was quite soft and thin, so I thought it wouldn't be too much of a hassle. As long as no one noticed the sliver, I would survive sweating from being overdressed.

Where Mom was concerned, I needn't have worried. The baby was due end of March, and with Dad constantly reminding Mom to take things easy to make sure the childbirth would be without complications, she was busy following "doctor's orders" (as she put it) and slept a lot or relaxed in the living room.

However, my father was an entirely different story. Despite caring lovingly for Mom, managing the household _and_ having a full-time job at the hospital, he still found ways to spend time with me. How he did that was a miracle to me, but I didn't complain; there wouldn't be many opportunities for togetherness once the baby was born. His attentiveness proved problematic now, though, when I appeared downstairs for breakfast in long trousers when I had so far only worn shorts – or at least knee-length trousers. With his eyes trained for detail, he automatically zoomed in on the different garment and carefully watched me move around the kitchen fixing my breakfast. That he never commented or asked questions about the sudden change in attire nearly threw me off the loop. However, when he eventually left the house for work without having said anything in regard to me suddenly covering my legs, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was one obstacle less to deal with, and I went to school feeling good.

I hadn't counted on my friend, though, who proved how extremely perceptive and straight to the point she was.

"Hey," Annabelle greeted when we met over lunch in the cafeteria, plopping down on the chair opposite of mine. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged, nibbling on a potato. "Quite good. You?"

"I'm fine." She portioned the dressing over her salad and grabbed her fork, eating in silence. After a moment, she asked, "Are you sure you're all right?" and squinted at me before stabbing a tomato quite viciously.

I frowned. "Of course. What makes you think I'm not?" I took a sip from my glass.

Annabelle shrugged. "You aren't cold or anything?" I shook my head and she pondered, "Then why are you wearing long trousers? It's the middle of summer. It's sweltering hot outside and still warm in here." She fanned air toward her with her hand, before pointedly looking around the cafeteria. "No one besides you wears long trousers," she observed. Glancing back at me, she pressed, "So, what's up?"

I nearly choked on my juice. Darn Annabelle for being so observant. "It's nothing. I just wanted to wear something long. I'm… sweating quite a lot lately, and long trousers will prevent me from getting glued to a chair." I laughed at my own stupid joke, hoping to relax Annabelle.

She regarded me for another moment with a pensive expression, as if she knew I was lying. Eventually, she sighed, looking anything but relaxed. "Okay… I get you don't want to tell me, but really, please say something if you're getting ill. Promise?"

Smiling that she really worried about my well-being, I said, "Promise." Of course, I just couldn't tell her, no matter what happened. It would surely freak her out, making her realize a freak like me wasn't worth being called her friend. I had to remain silent. Certainly, friendship required trusting each other, but not with such… life-altering changes I seemed to undergo. I hoped – for my own sake – that the metal sliver was nothing dangerous.

However, as is the thing with changes, they never only limit to just one. The continuously growing metal sliver wasn't the only change happening to me. I also experienced an alteration where my senses were regarded. Colors had been slightly off ever since I first woke up after my kidnapping, but they were now joined by a heightened sensibility of touch. Everything I fingered was much more diverse than before; for instance, textures and patterns were more detailed, irregularities easier to discern, and coarse stone felt sharper, so much so that I thought I'd cut myself if I wasn't careful. (Of course, I only imagined I would get hurt, but nothing ever happened.)

All the changes I experienced since my accident in physics scared me to hell. But they were also intriguing in a wicked kind of way. There were days when I felt special, like I was chosen for something spectacularly great, and I couldn't wait for it to happen. But then there were moments where I was very much afraid and _this _close to confiding in Dad, ready to ask for his help. In the end I always chickened out, afraid of how he would react if I told him, so I continued keeping it my secret.

Soon, however, I reckoned that in a way it was good I hadn't spilled the beans just yet, because – like with the off-color – I quickly got used to the changes happening to me. In fact, I couldn't get enough of the diversity my fingers experienced these days. I was brought back down to earth from my euphemism relatively quickly again though – courtesy of R.C.

It had been a while since our last tutor session – four weeks to be exact; my, time flew these days… Anyway, R.C. had called me the day before my accident in physics, excusing herself. She had said she was ill and wouldn't risk infecting me, so she'd rather took a break. I had told her not to worry; I would get along for a while. Still, she had insisted I promise to contact her whenever I had a question.

That was four weeks ago. Now, R.C. was well again, and we would have another tutor session. I had to admit I desperately needed it and R.C.'s help. Senora Cadina had introduced a new tense just the other day, and it was all only Greek – or rather Spanish – to me. But I was also looking forward to spending time with R.C. again – even if it was while studying tenses.

R.C. was punctual, as usual. But as soon as I opened the door after she rang the bell, the greeting that she had wanted to give died in her throat. Her mouth spoke but no words came out, making her look like a fish out of water. All the while she stared at me like I was an alien.

Eventually, after about two minutes, I cleared my throat, and R.C. snapped out of it. "Sorry," she mumbled while finally entering. "Just… realized something."

"'Kay…" I said slowly. "Care to share the enlightenment?"

She blinked and gave me a quick glance-over, but then she sighed and shook her head. "It's… nothing really." Quickly changing the topic, she asked, "So, how's your Spanish?"

We spent about an hour with studying, even made good progress in regard to grammar – much to both our joy – and could thus finish earlier than expected. While I scribbled down the last notes, R.C. turned slightly toward me, giving me a long and definitely pensive look. I waited for her to speak what was on her mind, but when she still hadn't said a word after a couple of moments, I looked at her questioningly. Instead of a verbal answer, however, I only received a very deep sigh. "Slag," she muttered after another heartbeat, but it was obviously not meant for me.

I frowned at her. "You all right? You look… uh…" I trailed off, searching for the right expression.

"Pale? Beaten? Like hell?" she offered, the corners of her mouth curling slightly upward in a smile.

"Yeah… something like that," I slowly allowed.

The smile grew a little, but there was an aura of sadness surrounding her. "I'm fine, don't worry. But… a friend of mine is not. I worry about her."

I blinked. "Annabelle?" I asked, alarmed. A tiny voice in my head told me that couldn't be right; just this lunch my friend had been the epitome of liveliness.

R.C. quickly shook her head. "No! Annabelle's fine. It's someone else."

"Do I know her? Is there something I can do?"

"You could say that," she muttered, then added, a little bit louder this time, "And I'm afraid there's nothing you can do." She quickly packed her stuff, then stood and walked toward the door, seemingly in a hurry to leave. I shot up and scurried after her.

R.C. paused before opening the door and turned toward me again. Her eyes looked sad… or guilty – I couldn't quite pin that down. "Chloe, can you promise me something?"

I nodded. "Sure. What do you need?"

She shook her head. "I don't need anything. But I want you to promise me to be careful, all right?"

Her words let me frown. They were so … vague. "Something specific I should be careful about?"

R.C. sighed again. "Just take care of yourself, please. Don't do anything… reckless. That's all I ask. Promise me?"

I was confused. She obviously didn't want to become clearer with what exactly she was talking about, but from her tone it was clear she worried about me, a lot – and that she wouldn't go before I had given her my word. "Promise," I said, holding up my hands to show her that I didn't cross my fingers behind the back.

That seemed to appease her a little for she nodded firmly, the expression in her eyes changing to determination. "Good. See you soon." And then she left.

While I stood in the door, watching her get on her bike and drive down the street, I wondered when _R.C._ had become scary.

…

Over the next days, life suddenly sort of became chaotic. Mom was very close to delivery, but whenever Dad was at work, she became active, unable to sit still any longer. One day when I came back from school, Mom wanted to go grocery shopping (to be prepared for when she was in hospital she said), but our car had broken down – again! If Dad knew what Mom was doing during his absence these days, he'd have a fit. Anyway, with Dad – as well as Johnston – still at work, it was on me to repair it. We indeed needed to be mobile at all times, in case Mom went into labor the very next moment. Luckily, using Johnston's 'process of elimination,' it proved to be an easy repair. I managed nicely and could finish the repair quickly. Still, having been successful felt good.

When I went back inside and Mom saw the big smile plastered on my face, she looked at me questioningly. "What?" she asked.

"I think I'm gonna become a mechanic," I said in a rush, without having thought it through. But once the words were out of my mouth, I felt certain for myself that it was a career I would like to follow.

Her frown deepened. "Why?" she inquired warily.

I shrugged. "I just noticed I like repairing cars. I enjoyed fixing ours."

"So it works again?"

"Yep. As good as new." _If it stays that way_, the voice in my head added. I ignored it, flashed Mom a wide grin and sauntered up the stairs into my room, feeling elated at my successful car repair.

Not a minute later, Mom was out and took the car for grocery shopping. I didn't attempt stopping her, knowing it would be futile anyway, and hoped she would be back before Dad came home. She was, but before she could shut off the engine, it died on her. So I went back outside to repair the car a second time in one day.

It wasn't really broken though. Heat had accumulated in the engine, and unable to cool itself, the motor had died. It would just need to cool down to work again.

However, since I was outside already, I took the chance to study the engine a little closer. Couldn't hurt to be as familiar with the motor as possible, I reckoned. After all, one never knew when the knowledge would come in handy.

Bent over the open front, that was how Dad and Johnston found me when they eventually came home. Johnston parked his car in his driveway, and both got out. I straightened up at the sounds of the doors and waved hello.

Johnston accompanied Dad over the street, his eyebrows raised. "Oh dear…" he said. "Is that old machine broken again?"

I shook my head. "No, no, it's working just fine. It was broken earlier today, but after repairing it I thought I could study the built from up close."

"I doubt that's on the agenda for your physics class. What about your real homework?" Dad asked.

I grinned at him. "Math, English, biology, Spanish… All done. _And_ I did the dishes."

Johnston whistled appreciatively. "Wow. Someone's been busy."

"See," I said, purposely looking at Dad, "I have time to study the motor."

Left without further argumentation, Dad couldn't help but be impressed too. "Excellent. Though, don't waste your time on this old girl here." He patted the car's roof affectionately. "I got confirmation today that the new car will be shipped within the week."

"That's great!" Johnston exclaimed, apparently not yet having known.

"Yes, it really is," Dad agreed. "No more worries whether or not the car will take us to the intended destination without trouble." He sent me an amused look. "Chloe seems to think otherwise, the way she wistfully regards the motor…"

I grimaced and looked back at Dad. "Not true. I'm happy we get a new car. It's just… I spent the last hour studying this engine, and I'll miss it. Sort of. Kinda. I think…" I trailed off, lamely. After a moment, I added, "Sorry."

Johnston laughed but put a hand on my shoulder, briefly squeezing it. "No need to apologize. I know where you're coming from. I felt the same when saying goodbye to my car when coming here. It was the first one I ever got myself."

"You couldn't bring it?"

He shook his head. "It's of British build, and as you know, they drive on the right here on DG."

"Never stopped people before," Dad pointed out.

"True. But it hadn't been the newest when I first acquired it, and cars don't become younger the longer you drive them. I was lucky it still held up as it was. I doubt it would have survived transport here in one piece." Johnston shrugged. "It's been years, and I'm happy with the wheels I got now." He threw a glance over his shoulder toward the green and white car in his driveway.

…

The new car didn't arrive within a week but three days. Dad took the opportunity to introduce us to our new wheels while taking Mom to her final prenatal appointment at the hospital. The baby was due any day now, and the doctor wanted to make sure everything was all right health-wise with both Mom and the child. Both were fine, but nothing indicated that my sister was in a hurry to be born.

That changed drastically mere hours after Mom's appointment.

It happened in the middle of the night and I never noticed. That particular night, a thunderstorm crossed Diego Garcia. Dad later told me Mom had woken up when labor had set in (the exact moment of the first lightning). Of course, he had immediately rushed her to the hospital. He had wanted to take me too, but I was soundly asleep. Not wanting to wake me, he had gone with Mom, leaving me alone at home, counting on being back in time for breakfast.

However, I woke up about an hour earlier than usual to use the bathroom. At this hour, the house was deadly silent. I didn't worry about it at first, still half-asleep and moving around like a zombie, but when I walked by my parents' bedroom and found the door ajar with the bed empty, I was instantly wide awake. Stepping inside the room, I gave it a thorough look over. The bed linen was rumpled and very much looking like Mom and Dad had left in a great hurry, and Dad's wardrobe stood open too. Since he was a tidy person, he would never do that on purpose. That meant there could be only one reason why he would not close the door properly. But to make sure I wasn't mistaken in my assessment, I went downstairs to check whether the bag Mom had packed several days ago (for when she was in hospital) was gone. It was. I couldn't help glancing outside the window to see if the car was gone as well, even though I knew my suspicions about why Mom and Dad had left the house in a hurry had already proven true.

What surprised me was what I encountered when looking outside. I knew about the storm – the forecast had warned us – but seeing the destruction caused was something else. For instance, several palm trees had been uprooted, with one of them hanging in the power lines crossing the street a block further down. Its weight had bent an utility pole and pulled down another one; it now lay across the street, the power lines cut. One end had fallen onto Johnston's car that parked in front of his house. I didn't know whether there was still power running through the lines. Even if not, I should better inform Johnston, just in case something happened to the car.

But first things first. Ignoring my stomach growling in hunger, I grabbed the phone and called the energy provider, alerting them to the damage and asking them to cut the electricity if they hadn't done so already. With this problem then taken care of, I raced back upstairs and quickly got dressed. Once downstairs again, I grabbed the keys and left the house, crossing the street as quickly as I could while looking out to not step on any lose power lines. Having reached Johnston's house, I rang the bell several times, even loudly banged my fist against the door. No reaction. Shouting for the mechanic remained unsuccessful too. I then wondered why I hadn't just called him on his phone before I remembered that I didn't have his number.

Since Johnston was unavailable, I had to take care of the possibly zapped car myself before anything bad happened, like the engine exploding. A moment later, I recalled that an electrocuted motor wouldn't explode; there was no fire involved after all. But one could never be too sure; Hollywood had proven it time and time again.

Anyway, first order of business: getting rid of the power line. That was easier said than done. Removing it with something metal was dangerous as residual electricity could effectively electrocute me. Using wood was usually a good option, but after the thunderstorm, everything was wet, and moist wood _did_ conduct electricity. Lucky me, though; I found a dry wooden pole and some plastic wrapped around it with which I could easily remove the power line from the car.

In order to not step too closely to the cut power line or touch the car chassis, I stayed at some distance. That, however, resulted in me having to stretch quite a bit. But eventually, after a few minutes full of struggling to keep my balance (I wasn't very stable after all, as anyone ever having seen me in gym class could confirm immediately), I succeeded in the removal of the cut power line. It slid from the hood, coming to lie several inches away from the front left tire.

With phase one complete, I quickly moved to the next one. With rubber gloves in place, I lifted the hood to peer inside. On first glance, everything seemed to be in order. But after I got a torch and thoroughly checked the underhood again, I noticed that a small piece of electronics happily and frequently emitted sparks. In my book that screamed 'damage.' Apparently, from the looks of it, the electricity had wreaked havoc on the car's electronic circuits. It wasn't anything dangerous, like motor oil having caught fire, but enough damage to be concerned about.

Frowning pensively, I bent closer for a better inspection in order to determine the best action on how to fix the damage. A moment later, I was left in awe. From where I stood, the damaged piece of electronics looked extremely complicated, and I briefly wondered whether I would even be able to repair it. I wouldn't know before I had tried though.

No sooner thought than done.

The piece of electronics sat somewhat hidden in-between other, more familiar components which I could easily remove to get access to the damaged part. When I detached the distributor rotor, however, a little oil shot out of the motor in a fountain, aiming for my face – and of course scoring a hit. Unprepared for that to happen, I gave a startled cry and jumped back in order to avoid getting more oil smeared into my face, but not before feeling the car softly rock beneath my fingers for a moment. There also was a brief rattle, as if the engine tried to start itself but failed miserably. The voice in my head suggested it sounded like laughter or a snort – which was of course ridiculous, so I pointedly ignored that very unhelpful thought and went in search for a towel to get the oil out of my face.

Returning a couple of minutes later, I continued the work I had started, and after another ten minutes of taking apart the engine piece by piece to reach the damaged electronic circuit, I finally held it in my hand. I cleaned it with the towel I found before disassembling it. The task was difficult because the circuit's components were mostly tiny to miniscule – and sometimes looking extremely alien. Half the time I was at a loss of how to unscrew pieces because a normal screwdriver wouldn't fit. It took longer than I had anticipated until I found the origin of the damage: a burned cable.

Luckily, I found a very similar cable – both in length and thickness – in Johnston's tool kit which was stashed in the car's trunk. Replacing the burned one, I began the tedious task of putting everything back together. It cost me about the double amount of time until I had the electronic circuit looking as before. If it actually worked again, was an entirely different story. Only starting the engine would show if my repairs proved fruitful, but without every single component back where they belonged beforehand, the motor would stay silent.

Another half hour later, I wiped my hands clean on the towel and heaved a deep sigh. I felt exhausted but happy. There was only one thing left to do.

Diego Garcia was a village, if you wanted to be correct about it. We all more or less knew each other, so houses and cars were hardly ever locked. It therefore came as no surprise that the car key still stuck, making it easy for me to try whether or not the engine worked again.

During the first three seconds, nothing happened, but then the motor coughed loudly before dying again. Sighing, I gave it another try. This time, the engine started immediately, still sounded very ill though. I wondered whether replacing the burned cable by a similar one had been a bad choice. Maybe only exactly the same fabrication could be used? In which case I would have to take apart the motor again to reach the electronic circuit, disassemble it again, replace the already replaced cable – if I even found one identical to the burned cable – before putting everything back together. A glance at the car's clock showed me, however, that I would have to get ready for school in ten minutes at the latest. And there had still been no reaction from Johnston. Was he even at home?

_Three time's the charm_, I thought and turned the key once more. The engine started up with a bang and roar before quieting down to an acceptable noise level. The motor from then on purred like a kitten, and I grinned from ear to ear, proud at my success. I thought I'd make a good mechanic.

When I shut the motor off again and got out of the car, Johnston appeared on the porch. He was wearing only light jogging trousers and a shirt, and was barefoot. He was also rubbing his eyes tiredly, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. "Chloe?" he asked sleepily when he came closer. "What are you doing here? It's not even seven yet."

"Good morning to you too," I said brightly, ignoring his wincing at my ecstasy. "Your car got zapped by a cut power line after last night's thunderstorm," I explained, pointing at the fallen utility pole somewhere behind me on the street without looking, "but when I knocked on your door to inform you, you never answered. So I went and repaired your car for you." I was still grinning, probably looking like an idiot, but I didn't care. I had been successful on my self-imposed mission and that made me extremely happy.

My words gradually registered with Johnston – that much was obvious from how his expression changed – but his body wasn't as awake as his mind yet. He moved only slowly, zombie-like even, when he at first glanced at the felled utility pole, then at the palm tree using the power lines as a hammock, before his eyes came to rest on the car in his driveway. He blinked once or twice owlishly. "Okay…" he eventually said slowly. "To recap: thanks to the storm, the car got electrocuted, and you repaired it?"

"Yep." I skipped back to the driver's side door, opened it and reached inside to turn the key for a demonstration. The engine started up immediately before gently purring. I shut it off again. "Voila," I said.

Johnston whistled appreciatively. "Wow. That's amazing. What exactly did you have to repair?"

I explained it to him as detailed as possible, and his expression turned incredulous. "All in all, it was nothing really," I concluded my little tale, playing my achievement down a bit, not wanting to appear arrogant.

He snorted. "From what you said it's anything but nothing." He went over to the hood and propped it open, peering inside.

I joined him. "No, really. I'm sure anyone could have done that."

He snorted again. "You have no idea, Chloe," he mumbled before closing the hood again. "My boss would probably give his sp— life to get his hands on you." He turned around and leaned against the chassis. "So you disassembled the circuit and exchanged a burned cable?"

"Uh-huh. Though I admit, it took me a little while until I had gotten that far. Those screws within the circuit? They looked like nothing I'd ever seen." I momentarily paused before asking the one question that had run through my mind ever since seeing the screws for the first time. "Is this a new sort of screws fabricated? Will there be more of them on the market in the near future? And what sort of screwdriver goes with such… alien screws?" Yeah, I know, three questions instead of only one, but meh.

He chuckled. "No, not a new sort of screws. Rather old to be precise. But as long as they keep holding…" He shrugged.

"Why exchange them," I finished the sentence for him.

He nodded. "Exactly."

"Okay. That answered my second question. But what screwdriver do you use?"

Johnston remained silent for a moment before slowly saying, "None actually." At my incredulous expression, he explained, "I never before had to disassemble that electronic circuit, so I didn't really know these old screws were still in use in this car."

He had a point. I was nonetheless a little disappointed as I would have loved seeing the screwdriver going with these strange screws, but if he didn't own one, I could do nothing about it. Another question occurred to me just then, so I asked, "Old screws, huh? Any chance I'll come across another one?"

"Eh… I don't think you will," Johnston allowed carefully, sounding a little wary with where this conversation was going. "Those screws are _really_ old, like… antiquely old, from long before even my time. There are no older screws around."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"I wonder who built them…" I mused, patting the car's hood. I found I'd been extremely lucky even getting the chance to see such antique stuff. "And who would still use them these days," I added after another moment.

Johnston hemmed and hawed a little before muttering, "Well…" but he broke off again. "Oh my, look at the time." He pointed at his watch, showing it to me. "Shouldn't you leave for school?"

I felt bumped that he would want to get rid of me. But he was right. "I gotta go," I grumbled. "School starts soon."

He nodded understandingly – and for my taste a little too enthusiastically. "Thanks again for the repair. I owe you one."

"Nah," I said, grinning again. "It was my pleasure helping out."

His face split by a smile. "Still, you have my thanks. But now off you go. The clutches of education demand your presence."

I laughed but turned around to run off back home – only to see our car sit in the driveway, Dad leaning against its driver door. He smiled proudly at me over the distance. Hurrying over toward him, I shouted, "I did it! I repaired Johnston's car."

He nodded. "I saw."

Coming to a stop next to him, I blinked in surprise. "You did?"

Nodding once again, he confirmed, "Yes. I've been here for a while."

"Why? And why didn't you say something earlier?"

He chuckled and reached out to hug me to himself. "You were so immersed in your task, I didn't want to interrupt you. Besides, it was nice watching you move around the car so confidentially." He put his hands on the sides of my head, tilting it slightly backward until we could look each other in the eyes. "I'm so glad you found something that you enjoy."

I grinned. "It's really a lot of fun, Dad," I said, still a little breathless from my elation. He sent a grin in return. Bringing us back to the here and now, I then asked, "Where have you been though? When I woke up this morning, you and mom and the car were gone."

He nodded, his features smoothing out a little, but he still radiated happiness. "Her water broke so I drove her to the hospital."

My eyes widened. "Did she give birth already?" I asked excitedly. Though, I also felt sad that I hadn't been there to see it with my own eyes. I had been looking forward to experiencing the wonder of childbirth.

His grin widened. "She did. Your sister was born this morning at around half four. She's a little smaller and lighter than what's deemed normal, but she's healthy and fully developed, and that's what really counts."

I squealed and slung my arms around his waist while he was still speaking. "I wanna see her!" I blurted out as soon as he finished.

He laughed. "That's why I'm here. You have gym class this morning, but I met the principal on my way here and asked if he could give you allowance to miss it, just this once. He said he could make this exception – but only as long as you're back at school for Spanish."

I groaned and Dad chuckled; I wouldn't have minded missing Spanish too, or the rest of classes today for that matter. Sighing in defeat, but at the same time being happy that the principal had granted me leave, I said, "As long as I can meet my sister right now, I'd even do double Spanish."

Dad laughed out loud at that. "Your wish may just get granted."

I blinked up at him. "Huh?"

He chortled. "Your physics teacher apparently has an appointment this morning he can't miss, so he arranged for his earlier classes to be switched with others. You just got lucky and drew the double Spanish straw."

I groaned again, much to Dad's amusement, but he ushered me inside. "Go clean yourself, then grab your bag. And hurry, or we won't make it back for Spanish in time!" he called after me when I was already back inside.

We made it to the hospital in record time – without Dad breaking any speed regulations.

Mom was sitting in her bed, a huge pillow stuffed behind her back. Right now, though, her head was against the headrest, her eyes closed. She was dozing, I realized. But even in sleep she looked a little exhausted. The little baby bed with my sister in it stood next to Mom's bed, its occupant sleeping peacefully. Dad let us into the single room Mom had gotten, gesturing at me to be silent. I crept on tiptoes toward the baby bed and carefully peeked inside. Dad appeared at my side and whispered, "Chloe, meet your little sister, Freda."

She was tiny and appeared quite fragile, looking like she'd break if anyone were to pick her up. Her skin was rosy and partly see-through; I could easily see where the veins trailed through her body, just under the skin. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with her breathing, and in her sleep, her fingers and feet twitched now and then. I carefully reached out and, with a finger tip, gently stroked her tiny fist. It opened reflexively, reaching out to grasp at my finger. She missed of course, but that little movement made me realize that the baby in front of me was indeed a living, breathing creature. My little sister. I didn't realize I had tears in my eyes until they started rolling down my cheeks. I wiped them away and looked up – finding that Mom was awake and looking at me with a smile, warming her entire expression. She beckoned me toward her and I walked around the bed. Reaching out, she cupped the side of my head with her hand, her thumb wiping away another silent tear from my eyes.

"She's beautiful, Mom," I whispered in awe.

"Yes, she is. As beautiful as her older sister."

That undid me. I fell around Mom's neck, the tears now falling in earnest. I suddenly felt small and helpless, like a child needing the protection of her parents. _You still are a child,_ the voice in my head reminded me gently. I ignored it, instead relishing in the hug Mom engulfed me in, savoring the moment of shelter for forevermore.


	16. Where Loyalties Lie

**Author's Note:** Many thanks for the lovely feedback on the last chapter! I'm really glad you keep enjoying reading my story. Therefore, without further preamble, here's chapter fifteen for you. Happy reading! :)

* * *

><p>– chapter fifteen –<p>

**Where Loyalties Lie**

The moment was over way too quickly when Freda woke with a startled cry which immediately turned to a persistent one. I grimaced at the volume my sister was already capable of mere hours after her birth. Mom reacted instantly, turning and shifting in the direction of the baby. I started moving backward to give her more room, but the arm she had around my shoulder tightened to hold me where I was. "Stay, Chloe. Let me have both my daughters at my side for a moment." She smiled at me. "Besides, I can nurse her just fine with you sitting on the edge of the bed." She let go of me to pat said edge.

I made myself comfortable while Dad lifted Freda out of her bed and then carefully handed her over. Mom took her with an already wrinkled arm, supporting her head, and set Freda up for nursing. My sister greedily reached out, and quickly afterward, contented suckling filled the room.

Mom tilted her head and looked at me. Her unoccupied arm reached up to stroke my cheek. "You looked just like Freda does," she told me.

"And you were just as hungry," Dad added with a grin. He stood at the food of the bed, watching us with a fond expression in his eyes. I blushed and he laughed quietly.

"For a baby to be hungry means they're healthy," Mom said. "Don't let your father get to you." She winked at Dad. He blew her a playful kiss in response.

A few minutes later, while Freda was still nursing, Dad glanced at his watch and reminded me of the time. Carefully giving Mom a hug to not disturb Freda (and receiving a kiss on my forehead in return), I said my goodbye for now. Dad drove me to school, but he also promised to take me back to the hospital as soon as classes were out. With this guarantee to look forward to, I thought I'd be able to tackle double Spanish with ease.

On my way to class, I made a beeline for my locker to stash away a few of my books to make my bag a little lighter. Just when I was done, someone called, "Hey, Chloe!"

Turning around to face the caller, I saw Annabelle swiftly walking up to me. "Hey yourself," I greeted when she arrived at my side.

She flashed me a grin which then quickly morphed into worry. "You all right? I missed you at gym class this morning."

I nodded, shifting the still relatively heavy bag on my shoulder to get its weight into a more comfortable position. "I know. I was in the hospital and –"

"Primus, what happened?" my friend blurted out, interrupting me.

Chuckling, I waved her concern off. "Don't panic, everything's fine. Mom gave birth early this morning, and since I slept through the event, Dad took me to see Mom and my sister."

"Oh!" Relief washed over Annabelle's expression. "That's great news, congratulations!"

I grinned. "Thanks."

She grabbed my arm, and we walked down the hallway. "So, what's her name? What does she look like?"

I laughed at her enthusiasm and she joined right in. "We named her Freda," I said proudly after another moment. "And yes, Mom and Dad asked for my opinion on the name, back around Thanksgiving."

She smiled. "That's nice of them."

"It really is," I agreed, nodding. "She has a flock of brownish hair, still plastered onto her head – which is really big in comparison to the rest of the body – two hands with five fingers each, two feet with five toes each…" I trailed off, unimaginative as to how to describe my sister to Annabelle. It was one thing to see Freda with my own eyes, and a completely different one to describe her to someone else. Eventually, I shrugged and added, "She's a bit tiny and light, but healthy and fine, and she's doing really well." I smiled at my friend in happiness. "If nothing unexpected happens, she and Mom will come home at the weekend."

"Sounds great."

"Yeah. Until then, I'll go visit them after school, every day. Dad promised me I could. He's picking me up this afternoon, right once biology is out." Looking at Annabelle for a moment, I decided Mom and Dad wouldn't mind. "Would you like coming along?"

Annabelle's eyes widened in surprise. "Really, I may?"

I laughed at her dumbfounded expression. "Of course! You're my friend, and Mom and Dad like you. That makes you practically family."

Her eyes softened – she was obviously touched. She put a hand on mine. "Thank you, Chloe. I'm looking forward to meeting Freda."

…

Over the next days, I only lived for the moment when Dad would take me to the hospital. I sat through my classes, not really taking stuff in. I conveniently forgot noting down homework, and if I later remembered what assignments we'd been given, I only did them half-heartedly. Right now, I didn't care for studying. I even canceled the Thursday afternoon tutor session with R.C. just to have a free afternoon to go see Mom and my sister.

Dad found out relatively quickly and didn't waste a lot of time before confronting me. "I can understand that you want to get to know Freda, that you want to bond with your sister. But you mustn't forget that she's still only a baby," he lectured me that same Thursday evening over dinner. "School should be your priority number one, Chloe. You have only four more years before you graduate. No college will take you with bad grades."

Sighing, I poked my dinner. "Who says I even wanna go to college?" I mumbled, but apparently, it hadn't been quiet enough.

Dad glared at me. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that from you, young lady."

Wincing inwardly at being addressed in the clipped officer tone he only used when he was angry with me, I glared right back at him. "It's my life, Dad," I told him unambiguously.

He scoffed into his glass. "Do you honestly think I'll idly sit by and watch my first-born ruin her future?"

I know it was a rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway. "What's it to you what I do with my future?" I shot back, no longer caring whether or not we were headed into a full-blown argument. The voice in the far back of my mind wondered, _What are you doing? You never argue with your father._ I pushed it away and quenched the remorse before it could even develop, feeling the need to be boisterous for once in my life.

Dad talked back strategically, pushing the correct buttons. "You're my daughter, Chloe. I care for you, for your well-being, your happiness. I may not have been around much during your childhood to prove it, but that was because of my job – which ultimately allowed me to earn money for you so that you can have the toys you wanted, could go on holidays to see something of this world, could have proper clothes, get a good education, and so much more. And you know why I did what I did? Because I love you. You may not care what'll become of you if you fail high school, but I do, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that you do graduate and go to college to be set for life."

Dad hardly ever ranted. That he had just done so silenced me effectively. I looked back down on my plate.

We ate in silence for a little while, before Dad explained in a much calmer voice, "In the first weeks, all a baby will do is eat and sleep, and for the former, Freda needs her mother, first and foremost. But she will recognize us too when we hold her and talk to her, don't worry. Once she has grown a bit, she will start discovering this world and everyone around her. That's when she will get to know you, and you _will_ be important to her. You're her older sister after all. She'll most likely look up to you and try to imitate you. You _definitely_ will have a place in her life, but until then, give it time and concentrate on school."

I grumbled, "That's what you always say, that it will take time. You said that at the New Year's party too." That was another thing frustrating me. I violently stabbed my noodles with the fork. "That's been three months ago, Dad. How much longer do I have to wait?"

He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "Chloe, I told you, Prime and the others had fifteen years with Annabelle before they accepted her into their family. Three months is _nothing_ in comparison. Stop being impatient. You can't force such bonds to happen overnight." When I didn't shoot back a retort – frankly because I marveled that he was able to follow my jumping thoughts and even still remembered what we spoke about before the fireworks started – he said, "As for now, I expect you to pay attention in school again. I met your physics teacher in town this afternoon. He said your grades have been dropping in the last days and that you hardly pay attention anymore. You were also the only one not having done yesterday's homework."

"It was a boring assignment," I said in an attempt to justify my actions, knowing Dad wouldn't accept that as an excuse because it sounded lame even to me.

"You can't just decide not to do homework because the assignment is not to your liking," Dad said as expected, sounding incredulous. I just shrugged in response, not knowing what else to say. Sighing, Dad then added, "R.C. told me you canceled today's tutor session."

I shrugged again, though it hurt that she had blabbed to Dad.

That my attitude was really grating on Dad's nerve I noticed when he suddenly hit the table with a fist and snapped, "Damn it, Chloe!" That got my attention for sure. "What do you think you're doing? School is important for your future. Do you really want to throw it all away just because your mother gave birth to a baby?" He didn't let me answer though, instead continuing, "I expect you to go back to the old you, right away. Now go do your homework and I want to see it before you go to bed."

I stared at him. "You never check my homework, ever!"

"Seeing that you're intent on ruining your life, I have to make sure that it doesn't get that far. If that means checking your homework, so be it," he returned. "You brought this on yourself. Now go. I'll expect results in an hour."

I stomped off, no longer hungry, and slammed my bedroom door. I absolutely hated it when Dad turned all military on me. I wasn't one of his underlings to be shooed around at free will. I was his _daughter_, for God's sake! He couldn't order me to do something!

But old habits die hard; though in foul mood, I grabbed my math homework, and after having simultaneously seethed at Dad and brooded over equations for a good twenty minutes, I calmed somewhat down. I realized that I had been really childish, starting an argument like I had. I knew Dad cared for me and would do anything to make sure I had a proper chance at life. I absent-mindedly wondered whether it was too late to apologize to him before concentrating on math again.

Forty minutes later, Dad knocked on my bedroom door – right on time. I let him in and grudgingly handed him my biology homework which I had just finished. He gave it only a brief glance before handing it back, trading it for my math homework. "And that was now hard why?" he asked quietly.

Stuffing the rest of the books into my bag pack, I said, "I'm not a child anymore. I don't need supervision."

While looking through my equations, Dad said, "You're still a minor, so technically, you still are a child." He handed me back my notes, catching my eyes. "And as long as you continue behaving this petulantly, I will supervise you," he added coolly.

I grimaced at the rebuke.

Being the sharp observer he was, Dad of course noticed. "I'll cut you a deal, Chloe," he proposed calmly after another moment. My eyes turned to where he stood. Having gotten my attention, he said, "I promised to take you to see Mom and Freda after school, and I keep to my promises, even though I think you don't deserve it right now. In return, however, I want you to pay attention again in class, note down all homework, and do the assignments. I'll pick you up from school, you tell me how your day was and what assignments you got, then we'll go see Freda and Mom." He paused to let that sink in. "Deal?"

I mulled that over, then asked, a little irritated, "What's my homework got to do with that?"

He answered, "I can then estimate how long you'll need to do homework, but I don't want you to do it only after dinner and before going to bed. So in order to avoid that happening, we might have to leave the hospital earlier."

"Tomorrow's Friday so I don't have to do homework tomorrow right away. There's still Saturday and Sunday for it," I pointed out. "Besides, you said they'll be released at the weekend."

He nodded. "Indeed. I don't want to meet trouble halfway, but there could be something happening which would prevent them from being released the day after tomorrow. In which case I'm sure you'd like to visit them the next week…" He trailed off on purpose, letting his words hang in the air.

I had to admit he had a point. So far, both Mom and Freda were doing really great, but the fact remained that it had been a high-risk pregnancy and that my sister wasn't as big and heavy as a baby usually should be, seeing that she was born about a week earlier than calculated. The doctors therefore kept a tight tap on both Mom and the baby, prepared for any eventualities. Should something happen, it could delay their release.

Besides, I shouldn't really argue with my father because I knew he was right. "Deal," I agreed and Dad nodded, smiling a little.

…

Friday passed in a blur too, but the classes didn't go by unnoticed. I still had a little trouble concentrating, but I always noticed when homework was handed out and noted it down dutifully. When Dad then picked me up in the early afternoon, I could tell him about my classes and show him the notes I had taken. Satisfied that I had kept to my end of our bargain, he went to fulfill his part and took me to see Mom and Freda in the hospital.

Both were doing exceptionally great health-wise, and Freda gave the words 'lively' and 'jolly' new meanings. The doctors were therefore quite certain that nothing would delay Mom and Freda's release the next day, and come Saturday, Dad and I fetched them in the afternoon to bring both home.

The entire Sunday, we spent together as a family to get a feeling for being four now instead of only three. We had a picnic in our backyard and later watched family movies while snuggled onto the sofa, Freda sleeping in Mom's arm most of the time. I was allowed to hold her during a bathroom break; it was incredible to feel her weight against my arms. When I went to bed eventually, I couldn't get rid of the impression that the day had passed way too quickly. I could easily have spent another ten hours like this.

Monday morning came early when I was woken by Freda crying. A glance at my alarm told me I still had another hour before I needed to get up, so I turned around and tried to go back to sleep. But whatever Mom was doing to calm Freda down, it didn't work. So I crawled out of bed and went downstairs to see if I could be of help.

Mom was singing to Freda, trying to lull her to sleep, when I quietly entered the kitchen. It was a beautiful picture I met. When Mom noticed me, she smiled, still singing to my sister. Eventually, thankfully, the crying stopped and Freda fell asleep quickly afterward. Mom sighed, glad that silence had returned to the house. "Morning, Chloe," she then mumbled tiredly.

"Morning," I whispered back.

"Why are you up already?"

I raised my eyebrows. Feeling a little sarcastic, I said, "Oh, well… I thought I heard a baby crying at the top of her lungs. I must be mistaken though, because it's so quiet in here…" The last words I whispered theatrically.

Mom only rolled her eyes and ushered me out of the kitchen to go get dressed.

When I came home in the afternoon, Mom was in the living room, adjusting her clothes; Freda was nowhere to be seen. When noticing me, Mom signaled me to be silent and wait for her, then she tiptoed out into the hallway. "I need to go to the store; I want to make pizza for tonight, but we've run out of ham and cheese. Can you watch Freda for a while?" she asked in a whisper.

_Wait a second, I what?_ "Umm… are you sure?" I asked hesitantly, letting the bag pack slide down from my shoulder. I didn't mind babysitting my sister, but only once she was a little older.

Mom answered, "I'll be gone for maybe fifteen minutes. Freda just nursed and is now sleeping. She most likely won't wake up until I'm back."

"But—"

"She won't break, Chloe. And I'll hurry." Before I could say something else – like suggesting I go shopping – she had grabbed her purse and was out the door. I guess she needed to get out for a couple of moments, without needing to worry about the baby, and I couldn't deny her that.

Sighing, I fished for my math homework and went into the living room. Freda slept in her playpen, looking totally conked out. "So…" I mumbled to myself before sinking onto the couch.

To my sister's defense, she slept really peacefully. I watched her for about five minutes, taking the time to study her. Freda was a really beautiful baby. Her flock of brown hair was no longer plastered against her head; instead, it now curled in a cute fashion. Her pudgy little hands were curled into cute little fists. I smiled at the picture she provided. Freda's chest heaved evenly with her deep breaths; she wouldn't suffocate, I decided, and concentrated on my homework.

I was interrupted mid-equation not a minute later when my right side felt like it was stabbed by a spear or blade. I gasped and let the pen clatter onto the table, reaching for my waist. Grimacing at the agony, I hoped it would be over in a second. It was, thankfully, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But before I could pick the pen up again, there was another stab, boring itself deeply into my spine. I thought I whimpered and tears of pain welled up in my eyes.

Over in the playpen, Freda moved and my head snapped up. Did I wake her? But my sister just kicked her legs once before settling down again, still deeply in the land of dreams.

Being grateful that at least Freda didn't suffer like I just did, I reached for my right side. The painful stab was gone again, but I moved carefully, not wanting to bring it back by an indiscretionary movement. My fingers gently wandered along the waist as I tended to be ticklish at my stomach and sides. But they stopped immediately when I touched metal embedded into my skin.

I slumped down; so the metal continued spreading, and without needing to just grow. Apparently, it could appear anywhere. Fear rose within me, and while the tears silently ran down my cheeks, I considered confiding in Dad tonight and ask for help.

But when Mom came home a couple of minutes later and I went to help her with the groceries, the thought was buried again.

…

After about a week, routine had set in, and life with a baby at home became easier than I thought it would be. After having visited Mom and Freda in hospital every day, seeing firsthand how lively my little sister was, I had expected to never again have a silent moment at home. And at first Freda had kept us all awake at ungodly hours.

But a handful of days after her release from hospital, Freda quieted down considerably. To everyone's surprise, we found out how quiet she could be. The majority of the day, she slept soundly in her crib. Once awake, she cried because she was hungry or needed her diaper changed or whatever else babies cry about (which only Mom seemed to be able to understand), but her cries were never overly loud – as if Freda knew it would disturb us. I never again heard her at night, although I knew she woke every two or so hours because the next morning, Mom – looking totally sleep-deprived – told us how often Freda had woken her to be nursed. Dad did look worse for wear too, especially during the first weeks, but he and Mom soon found a rhythm, enabling both of them to catch a bit more than just two hours sleep in one go.

What I found amazing was how quickly babies grow and change within the first days and weeks. To me it seemed like no time at all had passed when Freda started lifting her head and holding it up for more than just a second, started grinning when she farted just after Mom had changed her diaper, or even gave her first real laugh. That was a moment in itself worth remembering.

She'd been crying, Mom seemingly unable to solve the problem for her, but then Freda gave a big belch. At first she blinked owlishly, sporting a befuddled expression as if she herself couldn't believe that she had just done that. But then, all of a sudden, she laughed out loud.

From that day on she laughed long and often, seemingly unable to stop again. The sound she made was very infectious, and so I started playing with Freda before dinner, trying to make her laugh. It always brightened my days considerably to hear my little sister's laughter. Most often, though, she was the one making me laugh rather than the other way around, but us sisters having fun together gave Dad lots of great moments to catch for the camera. Those were the moments of bonding time I had yearned for.

Nonetheless, I also spent some time with Annabelle and R.C. while studying for the final exams (we had agreed to meet thrice a week for study sessions). Both were always fun to be around, and if I was over at the Lennox's house and Mia happened to be there too, we would have shooting practice after studying was done. During those afternoons I got to know more about the Christiansen sisters (like for example that Mia chose to work with Jack because of his tendency to blow things up) as well as develop an even closer friendship with Annabelle.

It came as a slight shock then when one day in April, I saw Annabelle sit at our table with a boy during lunch. I halted on my way over, but the boy – Brian Lee I realized when I got closer – already stood and walked away. He turned back around to Annabelle a moment later, though, calling out "I'll pick you up at seven"***** before leaving the cafeteria with two of his friends.

I plopped down in the chair Brian had just vacated and stared at Annabelle for a while, then asked, "Brian Lee?"

She grinned goofily. "Amazing, isn't it? He invited me to Kathryn's beach party this Friday."

I glanced over my shoulder in the direction where the boys had vanished before looking back at her. "But _Brian Lee_?"

"Hey, he's cute," she said defensively.

I held up my palms. "I didn't say he wasn't. I'm just wondering why him."

She shrugged. "He asked me, not the other way around."

I frowned pensively. "I thought he and Heather were an item. What changed?"

"They apparently broke up."

That was news. "Really? They looked pretty close. I thought they'd been together for ages."

"I know what you mean," Annabelle agreed, "but I won't complain." She grinned goofily.

I raised my eyebrows. "Knock, knock, Earth to Annabelle, someone at home?" I joked. She snorted before continuing with her lunch.

The topic then moved to the next movie night the base would host at the open-air amphitheater, but even though Annabelle threw herself into our conversation with enthusiasm, I couldn't help but notice that her thoughts seemed to wander elsewhere from time to time. And I had a pretty good idea of what – or better who – she was thinking. But knowing Annabelle quite well already, I thought she would have this one date with him and then be back to normal.

How wrong I've been…

On Monday, Annabelle wasn't seated at our usual table. I set down my lunch tray and glanced around, believing she may have gotten out of class later than I and was therefore still stuck in the queue in front of the counter. But not a moment later I spotted her – sitting with Brian Lee and a few of his friends. Sighing in disappointment that I would sit alone today, I sank down onto my usual chair. Maybe tomorrow we could talk again. But Tuesday was the same as Monday; Annabelle was in the cafeteria earlier than me, and she had lunch with Brian. That repeated itself the next three days. I didn't mind being alone, but after having spent lunch together with Annabelle nearly every single day for months, ever since my first week at school, it hurt a little that she would ditch me this quickly. I didn't resent her the luck of having a boy – and one of the cutest the school had to offer – have lunch with her; in fact, I was very happy for Annabelle. But it nonetheless hurt.

To Annabelle's defense, she still spent some time with me. It was restricted to the afternoons, during our study sessions, but despite the masses of homework and revisions we had to tackle, we always found time to just sit down and talk. Annabelle used those moments to tell me about the dates with Brian, like for example Kathryn's beach party they'd been to, and I loved listening to her tales.

"We played volleyball and went swimming, and people were talking to me," she reported excitedly a couple of days after the beach party. "Brian's always in the middle of everything exciting, and thanks to him, I was too – he made sure that I felt included at all times. It was really great," she said dreamily.

I smiled; it sounded like she had enjoyed her date very much.

Annabelle then leaned closer, conspiratorially, and said, "But the best was when he brought me home. He actually wanted to kiss me." Her voice had turned to a whisper.

"Really? Wow!" I whispered back.

She nodded enthusiastically. "I couldn't believe it myself. But it never happened." She sighed in disappointment.

Oh? "Why not? What happened?"

"The truck's alarm went off."

I blinked, dumbfounded. "The truck's alarm went off," I repeated, incredulous.

Annabelle looked at me in confusion, like she wondered why it would be hard to understand what she just said, and then her expression turned conscious-stricken. "Oh, well, uh… yeah, the car alarm. When I went inside, I found out that Hyde had watched us and decided to scare us with the alarm remote."

That surprised me even more. "Mr. Hyde? What does he have to do with anything?"

Annabelle raised an eyebrow, but also smiled fondly. "Didn't I yet tell you?" I shook my head no, so she explained, "He's like a grandfather to me. Of course he would keep an eye on me, and a boy intending for a kiss could be seen as… danger to his precious little girl." Her tone turned completely sarcastic. It made me wonder; obviously, she loved Mr. Hyde very much, so much so that he was part of her family, but at the same time she seemed unhappy with some of Mr. Hyde's views – which was quite contradictory in my opinion. That impression increased over the next days, whenever Annabelle told me about her dates and mentioned Mr. Hyde sulking or trying to talk her out of seeing Brian.

Eventually, the inevitable happened.

"Brian asked me to Prom!" Annabelle reported one day, afterward squealing like those teenage girls in cliché Hollywood movies.

It was this news that made me aware of the envy I felt deep down. I still was very happy for Annabelle, always have been and always would be; she was my friend after all, and what are friends for if not to be happy for each other? I enjoyed listening to Annabelle when she reported even the smallest details. But it also confirmed once again what I knew all along: that Annabelle was a beautiful girl and I a nobody. Annabelle had gotten a date for prom, but no one had asked me out, and I doubted that anyone would in the little time that still remained. I was alone and had never felt it weigh down on me heavier than right now.

Or maybe not as alone as I thought…

It was Friday a week before Prom. I once again sat by myself at my table, my lunch sort of forgotten next to my biology homework. I was nearly done with the mini essay we had been set when a shadow fell onto my notebook. Looking up, I saw Cole sit down opposite of me. I frowned, but before I could say something, he spoke.

"It's Prom next Friday, and I wanted to let you know that you'll go with me."

My jaw dropped to the floor and stayed there while I stared at him. "W-what?" I choked out after a while, incredulous that he would even _presume_ I'd go with him to any date.

He shrugged. "I know for a fact that you don't have a date for Prom yet, so here I am." He grinned.

I cleared my throat. "Why me?" I demanded.

"Why not?"

I sent him my most dangerous glare. "Because!" _Duh!_ "When will you finally accept that I'm not interested? And what about Louisa?"

He sighed theatrically dramatic. "Pity, really. You and I… we would look good together at Prom." I choked, unable – but also unwilling – to hide my disgust, and he ignored it. Instead, he continued, "I was under the impression that you and Louisa don't get along very well. Now I'm wondering why you would ask me to take her rather than you."

I ogled at him. On what planet did he live? "She's your girl, Cole. You two have been an item ever since I can remember. Why _wouldn't_ you take her but me who you don't even know, least of all _like_?"

"Why indeed?" he murmured and graced me with an unreadable look. He obviously had caught on that he wasn't going to talk me into being his date, though, because he stood and left – walking straight over to Louisa. I watched him, curious about what he would do now. Louisa at first glared at him, and from their mimic and gestures I would have thought the dialogue wasn't going that well. But then her eyes widened in incredulity before a bright smile formed on her face. She fell around his neck, looking extremely happy.

Satisfied to know that the two were reconciled – for now – I turned back to my biology homework.

…

April turned into May, and finally, Prom came around. My classmates – or at least the ones having been able to secure a date – had been overly giddy with excitement for several days already. The boys had kept talking about what girl they were taking out, trying to outdo each other, and the girls of course had spoken about nothing else but dresses, hair and make-up. For a while no one had thought about including me into their conversations, but one day Sandra had kept pestering me with questions of who I would be going to Prom with until I had told her that my 'date' – my sister – was too young to attend. She had stared at me like I'd gone mad but she had left me alone afterward.

That had been last week, and if I had thought that Annabelle would be my lunch partner again once this year's Prom was history, I was headed to another disappointment. Because, apparently, Brian had asked Annabelle to be his girlfriend. And she had said yes.

I listlessly poked my potatoes and sighed. Ever since Annabelle and I had become friends, we had been sitting at the same table, having lunch together. But now she was officially going out with Brian and had apparently forgotten all about me. We no longer talked during lunch, didn't see each other after school because she spent time with her boyfriend… The list went on. I felt betrayed by the one person I thought I could trust.

I was interrupted in my miserable wallowing when someone slowly slid into the chair opposite me, the one Annabelle had always sat in. But it wasn't her joining me during lunch. "I'm not interested," I told Cole, the intended snap coming out only half-heartedly.

He didn't answer for quite a while which made me look up at him eventually. His expression was… sympathetic? I frowned, regarding him closer. No, not sympathetic. That would have been too much to ask for. He appeared neutral at best, but even that was a change to the normally so arrogant attitude I knew.

What really threw me was what he finally said. "Odd, isn't it, that the friend you thought you'd found deserts you in the moment you need her most."

He had my attention. "What are you talking about?" I asked quietly, generally confused.

Cole softly shook his head before throwing a covert glance to where Annabelle sat with Brian for lunch. His eyes then found mine again. "Can you really trust her?"

My forehead furrowed in another frown. "She's just having lunch with him," I said, defending her even though I had not a couple of moments ago felt betrayed by Annabelle dating Brian.

He smiled a little, knowing I was lying and not irritated because of it. "You're so stubborn. But that's why you're still here," he mumbled.

Growling, I shot back, "Cole, tell me clearly what you want to say or leave me be. I have enough of your riddles."

He chuckled. "Feisty." I blinked in surprise, but before I could say something, he continued, "You need friends, Chloe, more than anything else, especially now. I know of a place where you'd receive the support you deserve."

I was left speechless. Did he just say my name? That was definitely a first. And what did he mean with 'especially now?' Did he know about my changing skin? That couldn't be. I hadn't told _anyone_! Not even my own parents knew. So how could he, practically a stranger in my life, have the knowledge – if he _did_ know about it?

I looked back up at him, preparing to ask a couple of questions that shot through my mind, but his eyes weren't on me for a change. I twisted around in my chair to see Louisa watch us. Realizing she was caught, she looked away, but there was no sign of the glare she used to send me whenever she saw me and Cole talking.

Cole, however, thought it was time to go. "Talk to you later, Chloe. Think about what I told you." And then I was alone again. What had gotten into him? I stared after him for a little while, confused about his sudden attitude change, before turning back to my own plate, wondering into what sort of hallucination I had walked in.

It wasn't the weirdest moment though.

Only two hours later, when I was just packing all my stuff back into my book bag, the feeling of being stabbed by a blade returned. This time, it hit me right in my side, where the kidneys were. I gasped and pressed my one hand flat against the spot where it hurt, but the pain didn't go away. Instead, it even increased. The book bag slid out of my fingers and plopped onto the floor while I leaned against my locker for support to stay upright. I hoped the pain would go away quickly, like last time, but that didn't happen, and it was only pure will that kept me from starting screaming. No one seemed to notice my predicament and I wondered what would happen if I lost consciousness in the middle of the hallway. Would someone find me here?

Then, suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder, making me stand upright a little more, before my left hand was grabbed. Fingers bore into my palm, pressing tightly, and miraculously, the pain diminished to a manageable level. I breathed raggedly, pumping air into my lungs, my knees shaky. The person still pressing their fingers into my palm helped me slowly sit down on the floor, my back leaning against the lockers. When I then looked up to thank them for their help, the words died in my throat. I stared.

Time seemed to slow down while we remained frozen in the positions we were in. Eventually, the fingers loosened their – by now painful – grip on my hand, and I realized the searing agony was gone. Standing upright, Cole said, "You might want to study pressure points. Press them hard during the next attack, and the pain will be bearable." He then turned around and left me sitting where I was, gaping after him.

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>Quote from "Introduction: Annabelle Lennox" by the Botosphere, chapter 17 "Love and Hate"


	17. Hallucinations

**Author's Note:** Lots of thank you's for the feedback on the last chapter! I'm always happy if you enjoyed reading the last installment.

That being said, the next one is quite lengthy, but I hope you don't mind. I had trouble getting the beginning right, and after I was already convinced the chapter is done, a major rewrite of the first scene happened. Oh well. But here you go now. :) Enjoy!

* * *

><p>– chapter sixteen –<p>

**Hallucinations**

With Cole's advice in mind, I planned on looking up pressure points as soon as I was done with my homework. Though, I of course hoped there would never be another attack, but apparently, Cole knew better.

The next blade bore itself into my stomach not half an hour later, just when I came home. I didn't even get to open the front door before it hit me again. How I still managed to get a hold of my key to let myself in was a miracle; a couple of minutes later, when the pain had subsided once more, I found myself sitting on the floor in the hallway, having no recollection whatsoever of how I had gotten there. Neither Mom nor Dad was home – which was quite convenient in my view. Otherwise, they would have freaked out. However, I saw no need in worrying them unnecessarily; it was enough that I was scared by what was happening.

After another moment of sitting on the floor to catch my breath, I slowly picked myself up, feeling a little stiff and sore all over, like after a very intense gym class. I bit back a whimper and grabbed my book bag, dragging myself upstairs.

When Mom came home an hour later from her check-up at the hospital, she took care of Freda and let me be; she only called up to announce her return. I didn't mind being left alone; it suited me just fine in order to fully recover from the two attacks I had suffered today. I later went downstairs, but even though we sat together in the living room, we were only having some small talk. Apparently, I had recuperated enough to look inconspicuous.

Dad, however, was a little harder to fool. When he came home, I sat in front of the computer, pouring over internet sites focusing on martial arts. It wasn't mortal combat abilities I needed, but some techniques used pressure points, and I was now trying to find out where these were located to apply the knowledge to my case. Where Mom had either been ignorant of or disinterested in my online activities, Dad found my sudden interest in combat puzzling.

"What are you doing?" he asked after the greeting, peeking at the site I was looking at over my shoulder.

Having anticipated such a question, I had already prepared a fitting answer. "It's for a biology project," I lied. "We started talking about illnesses and treatments, and Mr. Griffis handed out voluntary dissertations."

He raised an eyebrow. "Voluntary? And you took one, _voluntarily_?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I messed up, so I want to make it right again."

He frowned, probably not catching on to what I was referring. "Messed up?" he asked, suddenly sounding suspicious.

_Don't panic, he's not going to discover the truth if you make it believable_, I told myself. "Yeah, well, remember when Mom had Freda?" I returned hesitantly, talking lowly to not let Mom hear it (because neither Dad nor I had told her my grades had been dropping when she was in hospital; as they said, what you don't know won't hurt you).

Understanding then lit up in his expression. "Ah, I see…" he mumbled slowly, though still appearing unconvinced. I hoped he would drop the topic, but I was mistaken. Pressing for details, Dad inquired, "So why are you consulting the internet rather than asking your old man, a _physician_?" I thought he sounded slightly sulky but wasn't sure whether he was serious or only humoring me. I hoped it was the former.

"Meh…" I made, unsure of how to get myself out of the dilemma should he insist on helping me with the 'biology project.'

As feared, Dad grabbed a chair and made himself comfortable next to me. "Okay, then. I'm curious to hear your explanation of what martial arts has to do with the given topic."

I sighed; apparently, Dad had completely misunderstood me. "Of course I know that fighting won't heal," I said. Everybody knew that! "But there are techniques using pressure points, and I know that they are also for pain relief." After all, Cole had used that effectively on me.

Dad sent me an odd look and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "How did you get to that conclusion?"

I frowned. Didn't he know? "You're the doctor here, Dad. You should know that."

He shook his head. "You're not getting what I'm asking you, Chloe. Where from do you _know_ that pressure points are used for pain relief?" He nodded toward the computer. "Sites about martial arts certainly will not tell you that." He threw me another, suspicious look.

"Err… I… read about it… online," I improvised, rather lamely I had to admit.

"And where exactly?" he pressed.

Gah. "Dad, I've gone through hundreds of pages. You can't expect me to remember them all."

"No, I can't," he agreed, "but if you were researching properly, there would be notes." He paused for a moment before saying, "I don't see pen and paper anywhere."

I blinked in shock. _Damn!_ I hadn't considered that aspect. I felt heat and coldness run down my spine in quick succession. What could I say? Did he suspect anything? My thoughts were running wild and I nearly missed Dad's next words.

"So, what is this really about, Chloe?" he asked.

I forced down the panic, trying to keep a cool composure. "What do you mean?" I asked, acting being confused. "I told you, it's for biology."

He glared. "And now you're lying," he stated

"I'm not lying," I shot back, heat warming my cheeks. I just hoped the blush wouldn't betray me; right now, Dad was too observant for my tastes.

"Then you're doing a crappy job at researching for your dissertation."

"'Crappy'?" I blurted out. His words hurt; I had poured over literally hundreds of sites to find out about pressure points, as Cole had instructed me, and Dad thought I'd done a bad job? "I've read articles on exactly how much pressure is needed to make someone gag or lose control over their limbs. How would I know that if I'd researched crappily?"

Dad sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Because what you researched focuses on hurting people, not relieving them from pain. Martial arts aren't used for curing illnesses."

"But pressure points –" I began, only to be interrupted by Dad when he held up a hand to silence me.

"Pressure points cause damage, Chloe. _Acu_points are for treatment."

There was a long moment of silence when his words had sunk in. "Oh," I eventually made, feeling a little dumbfounded.

Dad nodded for emphasis. "If you want to treat someone, you don't hurt them. You relieve them from their pain," he said pedantically, voicing the obvious. Even little kids knew _that_. That still didn't give him the right to become patronizing, in my opinion.

Ignoring his tone for now, I asked, "And the… how did you call it? They do that?"

"Acupoints. And yes, they are used for pain relief."

Pensive, I glanced at the computer screen without seeing the site I still had open. Had Cole been mistaken when telling me to research 'pressure points'? Maybe he had confused them with acupoints? He had spoken with certainty, though, I was sure of at least that much. On the other hand, Dad was a fully trained physician. He would know for sure about pain treatment.

I decided I needed to know more. Trying a hypothetical approach, I inquired carefully, "So… let's for example say I pressed my thumb into your palm while you suffer from pain in the abdomen, I'm targeting an acupoint, not a pressure point?"

Dad nodded. "Correct. That's how acupressure works – or is supposed to work. Nothing against alternate treatments, but…" He shrugged. "I rather stay with old-school medicine."

"Okay…" I made, slowly becoming confused. Acupressure? That sounded like acupuncture. I asked Dad.

"Both techniques use the same acupoints," he said, confirming my thoughts. "The only difference is that acupuncture uses needles whereas acupressure is based on pressure – as the name already suggests."

I nodded to show I understood. I had briefly thought about acupuncture at the beginning of my research, but had dismissed it again fairly quickly because of the usage of needles. That method wouldn't help with my case anyway, seeing that I could hardly carry around needles to prick them into my skin when another attack occurred.

Dad watched me for some time while I still looked at the computer, trying to avoid his eyes. I wasn't sure if I could keep up the pretenses I had built so far if he got the chance to outstare me. It usually made me tell him _everything_.

Eventually, he sighed. "Don't you want to write anything down? How are you supposed to write a dissertation without notes?"

My head snapped around, back toward him. _Gah_! Parents! Why do they have to make my life so hard? "Err…"

"You know," Dad began, his voice developing a strange undertone. Did he try to test my defenses? "If it were me doing the dissertation, I'd start with some historical facts, like where these alternate treatments come from and the idea behind them, how the Chinese refined techniques over time, and so on. Then –"

"Dad," I interrupted him, before he could launch into a full-blown speech, waving my hands frantically. "Thanks, but… um…" I looked around, needing to quickly improvise. Inspiration then struck, and I said, "It doesn't need to be _that_ detailed."

He raised his eyebrows again. "No? I thought it's a dissertation."

Sighing inwardly at his persistence, I tried again, "Really, nothing extensive is required. Just a little… how best to say, a little presentation of maybe five minutes or so."

He pursed his lips, once again regarding me carefully. I slowly got the feeling that he not only sensed but _knew_ that I was just making things up out of thin air, and that he worked on discovering the truth in what I said. Eventually, though, he stated, "You want me to leave you alone."

Surprised by this turn of events, I nearly laughed out loud when finally registering his expression. "You aren't pouting now, are you?" I asked, amused.

"Of course not," he said immediately, indignantly, smoothing out his face.

I couldn't hide the grin any longer. "You really _are_ pouting."

He huffed indignantly. "No, I'm not."

Somehow, the situation just became cute. Dad and pouting was just something I'd never before experienced. And he looked absolutely adorable, like a little boy. For a second, I entertained the idea of hugging him for comfort.

Then, suddenly, an idea struck. Maybe I could soothe him for not getting a chance to support me with my supposed 'biology project' while at the same time getting his help with my actual problem – without giving it away, of course. It was tricky and depended all on how to phrase things, but it _was_ possible. I just had to be careful.

"You know," I began, meticulously picking out the words, "it can't hurt if you told me more – just so that I tell my classmates correctly."

His eyes narrowed momentarily before he launched into an explanation, all the while making himself comfortable on his chair. "Okay, let's start at the beginning. Acupuncture and acupressure are for treating pain, martial arts for injuring people. The former two were developed in East Asia, the latter originates from Europe, but people nowadays associate it with East Asian combat styles, like karate for example."

I nodded, showing that I followed him.

"In both treatment and combat, people work with the knowledge that pressure in certain points has an effect on the human body. Mostly, these points can be found along the nervous system or on muscles."

"But they are found in different places, like for instance pain relief in the palm while the point for cutting off air is located on the throat," I interjected.

Dad nodded slowly once, then said, "No."

Huh? "But –"

He held up a hand. "Pressure points and acupoints are often the same."

I stared at him. "'kay, now I'm confused. Didn't you just say that they're _not_ the same?"

"Not really, but I wasn't exactly clear either I suppose." He smiled ruefully. "For better understanding let's take your example. If you feel pain in your stomach, you can add pressure to a point in your palm. The pain will be relieved. You only need to execute a certain amount of pressure, though. Add more pressure and it becomes painful – in which case you heighten the pain rather than relieving it."

"Okay…"

"The same if you don't feel pain. Acupressure and acupuncture are said to be relaxing, and people believing in them use both for stress relief."

"Sounds like you don't trust them," I interjected.

He shrugged. "There aren't a hundred percent reliable studies, and the topic of both treatments actually having an effect is still controversial. It's without a doubt that pressure points exist and that one can get seriously injured when such a point is targeted. However, it's proven that for certain problems pressure treatment has positive effects, like for instance chronic dorsalgia." Upon seeing my blank expression, he translated, "Backache."

"Ah," I made.

He continued, "But unless there are qualified results which I can trust…" He trailed off, shrugging again.

"You stay with old-school medicine," I finished the sentence for him. "Got it, Dad. Though, what does that have to do with pressure points and acupoints now being the same?" I asked to bring us back to the actual point.

He took my hand and, like Cole, added slight pressure onto my palm. "Feels good?" he asked, carefully watching my face. I nodded. He then increased the pressure until I grimaced at the twinge I suddenly felt in my stomach and yanked at my hand, trying to get it free. Dad let go immediately and the pain was gone again. I absent-mindedly stroked over my stomach while Dad explained, "They're often the same because both terms are correct. They're called pressure points because adding pressure has an effect on your body. They're called acupoints because both acupressure and acupuncture use them."

That made sense. "So pressure point equals acupoint?"

"Not always, no. There are acupoints to relieve pain martial arts don't use as pressure points for hurting people and vice versa. But in general, yes, one can say that acupoint equals pressure point," he added.

"Okay, so then, why use different words?"

"Historical context I suppose." Dad shrugged again. "Seeing that I don't practice these 'alternate treatments,' I don't know for certain. I can only guess but I think it's for keeping the negative and positive effects separated. People automatically associate pressure points with pain so practitioners of acupressure and acupuncture use another term to not confuse their patients. But the internet might answer you that question better than I could."

"Wasn't it you who was put out I referred to the computer rather than asking a physician?" I teased, raising my eyebrows. "And now you literally shove me in the internet's direction?"

"Funny," he shot back dryly. I grinned but he nodded toward the screen. "Anything else?"

Sobering, I shook my head. "No, I'm cool. Thanks, Dad." So, in conclusion, Cole had been right even though he had kind of used the wrong expression, causing quite a confusion.

Dad took over the computer and quickly brought up a site about acupressure, pointing me to a special article. "I know this site explains the entire topic quite well, so I recommend you read it. You'll also find tips on how to treat sore muscles with acupressure after gym class."

"I thought you didn't believe in such practices."

"I don't, but trying cannot hurt, can it?" he replied.

"Guess not," I mumbled, my mind digressing to ponder over how best to apply acupressure when another attack hit me unprepared. Would I even still be able to treat myself if incapacitated by pain?

"But, remember, if the pressure administered is too high, it can reverse the positive effect and increase the pain instead of bringing relief," Dad said, his tone taking on a warning edge, as if he had heard my latest train of thought. When he was certain he had my attention, he sent me another odd look.

_Time for wrapping it up_, I told myself, _now that I've gotten what I needed_. "I'll make sure to mention that in class. Thanks."

Probing me carefully with his eyes, Dad opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but decided not to. Eventually, he slowly said, "You do that."

…

Prepared with the knowledge I had acquired I thought I could take on every situation when the attacks repeated. Nothing happened over the next days, however. I didn't complain as no attack meant no pain, and everything free of the searing agony I would otherwise have to endure I welcomed with both arms opened wide. I wasn't quite sure of how to categorize the headaches I instead started having, though.

They first began in the evenings, before going to bed. I noticed they were more intense the more stressful my day had been. Long hours of studying before going to bed worsened them even more. So I tried rearranging my daily schedule to avoid them. That didn't help much when the headaches started creeping up throughout the day too.

The real weird thing though was how the headaches played into my already altered sensory perception. There were moments where my surroundings developed the habit of becoming surreal; sounds shifted toward bass-like levels until I sometimes couldn't even hear them anymore, and mist-like blotches covered my vision until people moving around felt like I was watching everything from afar and-slash-or in slow-motion. Sometimes it was worse enough that I thought I was having hallucinations. I usually tried getting rid of the unwelcome sensations by shaking my head and closing my eyes for a moment, but the method worked only sometimes, when the headache wasn't too bad yet. Worst was when it happened during class as I then often was no longer able to follow the lessons. The only treatment working for certain was painkillers, but I had to be careful with how much I took because I knew Dad would at first have a fit before holding a stern lecture on the dangers of too much medication if he found out how much pills I was swallowing.

It was during one of such a period of perceived surrealism that Louisa came over to my lunch table. I blinked owlishly for a moment, trying to pull myself together as much as I could, before gulping down the panic that she would chew me out for trying to steal her boyfriend – and this time, I was on my own, without Annabelle leading the opposition. I looked down onto my plate; maybe she would leave again if I didn't react?

It wasn't my lucky day it seemed. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Louisa smoothly slide into the chair next to me. I prepared for the tirade that was coming, but she sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Curious to why she hadn't spoken yet, I looked up at her. She appeared calm, placated even.

Using the chance to say something, I blurted out, "I'm not interested in him, I swear. He keeps coming to me, not the other way 'round –"

"I know."

"– and I'm not getting between the two of you –"

"I know."

"– so there's really no need to –"

A hand came down on mine, squeezing it. My eyes snapped up to Louisa. "I know, Chloe."

I gaped like a fish out of water before stammering, "W-w-_what_?"

She sighed, looking like she counted to ten, asking for patience. _That wasn't a good sign, right?_ I wondered, expecting to be struck down about right now – but again, nothing destructive happened.

Instead, Louisa took her hand off mine, her expression turning pensive. "When I first saw you with him, I thought it was too late, that they already found you," she said quietly. "But you kept denying everything and your friend backed you up, even though she had no idea what was really going on. In a way, I was glad. You were so… oblivious, still are. That's good. It only means they haven't gotten to you yet." She looked up at me sharply. "Whatever you do, Chloe, _don't_ go with them."

I hardly heard her, thus having trouble following what she said. It seemed my hearing was slowly deserting me thanks to that horrendous headache clouding my concentration. I therefore stupidly stared at her while trying to piece together her words to an order that made sense. Once I was relatively certain I had deciphered everything, I felt frustration well up within me. Wasn't it enough that Cole kept speaking in riddles? Did Louisa have to do that now too? "What the hell are you talking about?" I eventually snapped, not caring whether I was becoming impolite and possibly asking for my doom.

She smiled sadly. "I wish I could tell you, but be very glad I can't. They say knowledge is power, but believe me when I say that blessed ignorance is your best friend right now." Her eyes sought out mine and she stressed, "You do _not_ want to know, Chloe."

I had always thought of Louisa as a strong person. She had character, had had connections to the most influential people at school. She was influential herself. People sort of looked up to her. She was the epitome of strength and willpower.

Despite the surrealism of this moment, I was a hundred percent certain about one thing: the Louisa sitting next to me was petrified, and I wondered what could possibly scare the living daylights out of her this easily.

We sat in silence for a little bit longer, and it was a comfortable one. I wondered whether she wanted to talk some more. Or maybe offer her friendship? But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, she stood. However, before walking away without another word, she said, "Thanks for making Cole ask me to Prom." Then she left.

"You're welcome," I mumbled after her, feeling more than ever like I just had had a full-blown hallucination. I closed my eyes and rested my head on my folded arms on top of the table, wishing for the headache to pass. But of course, when did my wishes ever get granted?

The persistent headache wasn't the only misery ahead of me, though.

After not having spoken for what felt like eternity, Annabelle caught up with me shortly after today's final class. "Hey," she said just when I closed my locker.

Surprised that she was talking to me again, I lamely replied, "Hey yourself," and slung my book bag over my shoulder.

She smiled briefly, but it had a sad tinge. "It's movie night this Friday," she began slowly. I nodded; we had talked about going together. Annabelle, however, had apparently other plans by now. "I'm really sorry, but I won't be able to go with you. Brian asked whether I wanted to go with him, and well… I said yes."

"Oh," I made before I could stop myself. Trying to not let her see my extreme disappointment, I shrugged. "It's okay, don't worry. You two have fun."

Annabelle smiled gratefully. She briefly took my hand and squeezed it. "Thanks. Have a nice afternoon," she said before returning to Brian – who, as I just now noticed, had been waiting down the hall. I watched them for a moment, then sighed. I had been looking forward to Friday night, to have some bonding time with Annabelle, but instead, I would now hide in my room, alone.

Feeling totally miserable not only emotionally but physically as well, I started back for home.

…

When my alarm woke me the next morning, it felt like a nail was being drilled through my brain. I groaned and curled myself into a ball, clutching at my head, but that didn't make the pain go away. When I still hadn't emerged for breakfast after another twenty minutes, Dad came checking up on me.

"Guess you're staying home then with that… migraine," he gently said after I managed to explain my problem to him. His hands gently massaged my scalp, his thumbs concentrating on my temples.

"I have a better idea," I brought out. "Take a hammer and flatten my skull. That must be the most effective treatment."

He snorted. "Since you can still be witty, it can't be that bad. So before we resort to such drastic, unconventional treatments, let's try with painkillers. I'll get you something." He stood and walked downstairs, returning within five minutes. He handed me two pills which I swallowed immediately, drowning them with the water he had brought along. Afterward, I sank back, alluring sleepiness spreading through my body.

"Thanks, Dad," I mumbled before closing my eyes, quickly falling asleep.

I had a weird dream. It was quite realistic yet so very strange at the same time, but when I woke up several hours later, around midday, I couldn't remember a thing. Pity, really, as I had wanted to ask Dad what he thought about it. Oh well.

When I slowly worked myself into a sitting position, careful about hasty movements to not bring back the headache that had – thank Goodness! – vanished for now, I realized how relaxed I felt. I hadn't been feeling this well in quite some time. Nonetheless, I moved around slowly; one could never be careful enough I reckoned.

Mom was in the kitchen, preparing lunch. She looked up in surprise when seeing me standing in the door. "Hey, hon," she greeted with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Loads better, thanks," I said and sat down at the table. Mom immediately handed me a glass with water.

"You hungry?" she asked. My stomach growling was answer enough. I blushed. She laughed. "Quality menu à la Mom coming up in a moment."

"Thanks."

The afternoon I spent in the living room, alternately holding my sister, pulling faces for her amusement, or doing some homework. Mom was busy with housework, but when Freda loudly demanded being fed around two, she joined me on the sofa and we talked a little over my sister's head. It was the closest to mother-daughter bonding we had in quite a while.

When Dad came home about two hours earlier than usual, the headache had returned. It was a lot more low-scale than in the morning, but nonetheless painful. Dad carefully checked me when I asked him for another painkiller, but he refused. "You got two pills this morning, and they've been the strongest I had," he said when I started to argue. "And you know my opinion on overdoses. Try lying down and rest some more to ease it."

I sighed, knowing I wasn't going to win this discussion, and went to comply with his suggestion while he stood and left the living room. However, before I got fully horizontal, my gaze fell outside. Across the street, Johnston was just getting out of his car, accompanied by Jack. The two were talking animatedly, even laughing. But Jack didn't join Johnston when he walked up onto the front porch, neither when he let himself into the house. Instead, Jack remained standing in the driveway for another moment, before vanishing into thin air. I blinked in surprise before sinking onto the sofa pillow with a groan.

I hated having hallucinations, especially when they were so unrealistic.

…

To my relief, over the next days, the headaches lost their intensity until they – more or less – completely vanished again. There still were some moments when my head would twinge all of a sudden, but the pain was usually gone once more after only a couple of seconds. My mood therefore lifted marginally; I even no longer minded not going to the movie with Annabelle. Instead, I spent most of Friday evening on the living room's floor, playing with Freda, and by hindsight, I was glad I had gotten this opportunity. Seeing my sister reach out for me and then have her little hand curl around my finger, pulling it forward, was a great feeling. She knew me and she wanted to play with me.

My happiness was only short-lived.

Saturday morning came bright and way too early when I was woken by another blade-attack into my midriff. I cried out in pain, but I managed to stifle the sound by biting into my pillow before I disturbed Mom, Dad or Freda. Different to previous attacks, this one passed relatively quickly, but it hurt just as much. Additionally, when I crawled out of bed a couple of minutes later, my stomach lurched and I had to suddenly run to the bathroom. I reached the toilet just in time before I puked violently.

Once my stomach was emptied, I weakly sank onto the tiles, only to sit up straight when there came a knock on the door. "Chloe?" Dad asked. "You all right?"

I wiped away a tear that slid down my cheek. "I'm okay," I said to placate him, without feeling it.

My tone probably didn't convince him because he opened the door, his eyes narrowing in worry when he spied me on the floor. "Then allow me the question what you're doing down there, hugging the toilet like a life-line."

I snorted; Dad just couldn't be fooled. "Must have been something I ate yesterday that didn't agree with my stomach," I suggested lamely.

He stepped in, grabbed a washcloth and wetted it. He then crouched down and gently wiped down my face. "Better now that it's out?"

"A little."

He nodded and put a strand of hair behind my ear. "Take it slow though," he advised.

"Will do. And, Dad, thanks."

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss onto my forehead. "Anytime, hon."

To say things improved from there on would be a lie. I followed Dad's advice and the urge to puke didn't return – simply because I didn't get hungry the entire day. At all. Mom starting arguing with me when I picked at my dinner without eating a single bite, especially after I had already refused lunch, but Dad grew worried. He thoroughly checked me for an infection, but I ran no temperature and was overall physically fine. I just wasn't hungry.

That didn't change overnight, but I forced down three bites of toast during breakfast on Sunday until I felt I was about to puke again. Thankfully, the food stayed where it belonged and didn't come back up. Still, that I shouldn't be hungry now not only worried Dad but Mom too.

"James, why don't you just take Chloe to the hospital and find out what's wrong with her?" she asked over dinner.

Dad regarded me for a while before he sighed. "I'd like to try administering nutrients over an IV first."

"But –" Mom started.

Turning toward her, Dad cut her off. "Chloe seems physically fine, Linda. Maybe just a little bit paler than usual. But I watched her carefully the entire weekend, and she didn't give any signs that something was wrong – apart from the lack of hunger." He shot me another look. "No need for heavy ordnance when a simple solution might do the trick." After a pause, he added, "If she's still not eating by tomorrow, I'll have her thoroughly checked at the hospital."

I pulled a face at the promised threat, but couldn't say anything against it, because Dad had just managed to reassure Mom that I was being looked after and that there was no need for her to worry unnecessarily.

So half an hour later, Dad and I were in my room, me lying down on the bed while Dad prepared the IV. "You know," I began, wincing when he pushed the needle into my arm, "even though I hate needles, I'm grateful I'm not shipped off into the enclosed ward."

He laughed. "It wouldn't be the madhouse," he joked. Turning serious and looking down at me, he said, "But I know, which is why I suggested the IV to begin with." He squeezed my hand in reassurance.

I turned my head and looked at the IV. "So, what exactly am I getting right now?"

"It's a mix of important nutrients the human body needs for everyday functioning. Without them, your metabolism can collapse. Your body might for example dehydrate which can become life-threatening."

Oh. "That sounds… bad."

He nodded. "It really is. Thankfully, you still are thirsty and drink quite a lot of water, which eases my worries a little, but that you haven't eaten much more than a couple of bites is troubling. I really hope it's just a temporary phase and nothing long-term."

"It's not that I don't _want_ to eat. I just can't," I explained. "Just looking at food makes me want to throw up."

His hand touched my forehead. "And that is what puzzles me," he said. "You don't run a fever, you don't have swollen lymph nodes… Usually, when someone has no appetite, they're getting ill. But you don't sport any symptoms. By normal standards, you're healthy." He sighed in frustration and I sympathized with him; to not being able to help me with my non-existent hunger when it was his job to cure people must really be grating on him.

To everyone's relief, the problem solved itself; on Monday morning, my appetite had returned, and I wolfed down my breakfast in record time.

Life in general seemed to normalize again over the following days; the headaches and blade attacks stayed away, and I could eat without feeling the urge to throw up after a couple of bites. The only abnormality was that I henceforth ate less.

To my personal relief, exactly a week after my appetite returned, the bright side of life became even brighter.

"Is this seat free?" I was unexpectedly asked at lunch.

At the familiar voice, my head snapped up in surprise from where I poured over math equations, leaving me staring incredulously at the speaker – Annabelle. She stood next to my table with her tray, looking a little awkward – but also ashamed.

After a long minute, I caught myself and said, "Sure." Annabelle smiled warmly before sitting down.

Silence lasted for a couple of moments, before my friend spoke again, the words coming out in a rush. "I wanted to apologize. I've been a complete idiot these last weeks. I'm sorry for how I behaved and I hope you can forgive me." She sounded contrite and like she really meant the apology.

I was stunned speechless for a moment, but warmth then washed over me, erasing any negative feelings and thoughts I ever had toward Annabelle. It was my turn to smile at her. "There's nothing to forgive," I told her firmly.

The silent thank you shining in her eyes was answer enough. Nonetheless, she replied, "Thanks, Chloe. It means a lot to me."

Despite us having reconciled quickly, there was some awkwardness present during the rest of the lunch break. We hardly spoke, and if we exchanged words, it was never about what happened in the last weeks. However, I was curious why she sought out my company for lunch again; did something happen between her and Brian? I hesitantly asked her when we stood to return to our classes.

Her eyes turned cold, her expression blank. "That dork broke up with me. He's history now." Her tone was hard, but I thought I noticed suppressed anger and disappointment. After having disposed of our trays, I grabbed her hand and squeezed it in silent support. Her eyes became teary, but she forced the tears down before they could fully emerge. "Thank you, Chloe."

From that moment on, things were back to normal between us, and I couldn't be happier.

That happiness was instantly crushed the next morning when I got ready for school. From one second to the next, I was overwhelmed by the most hellish headache I had ever had the displeasure to endure as well as lived through the most violent blade attack to date. The combined agony brought me to my knees with a _thud_. Crossing my arms in front of my stomach, I bent over until my forehead rested on the carpet. My entire body felt like it was on fire, but the painfully itching tingle coming from my left foot told me where the blade attack originated. Thank goodness, the pain faded as suddenly as it had appeared, not a mere minute after it had arisen. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, blood rushing in my ears. Breathing irregularly, I remained in that slumped-over position but jerked a little out of it when the door to my bedroom was thrown open forcefully the next moment, startling me. I think my heart skipped one or two beats before settling down again when I recognized Dad.

His expression was wild. "By God, Chloe, what happened?" he asked when he fell to his knees at my side, his voice urgent. His hands worked frantically, seemingly everywhere at the same time.

"Headache returned," I grunted through tightly clenched teeth.

He gave me an incredulous look, his eyebrows raised. "A headache," he stated flatly, then huffed. "Thanks to my job I've seen a lot throughout the years, but _never _before has someone screamed like you when they developed a _headache_." He sounded angry and I couldn't resent him the irritation. If he knew what exactly I was keeping from him… His next words interrupted my train of thoughts. "It sounded as if a psycho was skinning you alive!"

I flinched. Had I really been screaming? "That bad?" I hadn't even noticed.

He barked out an incredulous laugh. "_God_! Do you even have _an idea_ how much you scared us, Chloe?" he demanded heatedly. Only then I registered the baby loudly crying downstairs.

I winced at the volume; even though the headache was gone, I was apparently incredibly sensitive to noise. "Sorry, Dad," I mumbled. "It's not like I planned to do that, you know?"

He shook his head disbelievingly. Staring at me for a moment as if he wondered what to do now, he eventually rubbed his face with his hands. Mom's voice then wafted up from downstairs. "James?"

"I'm okay, Mom," I called back before Dad could give her a run-down. "Just… another headache attacking me. It's gone again though."

Dad sent me a glare and quickly stood. "You and I will have a serious talk, young lady," he said sternly in a low voice. Reaching down for me, he helped me get up. "Right now, on the way to the hospital."

I groaned. "Dad, please, there's no need to take me with you. I'm fine."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm the doctor here, and you're fine when I say you are. End of discussion."

"I have school," I argued, ignoring his last comment.

"Health over education," he countered, grabbing my arm and sort of dragging me into the hallway when I didn't move on my own. I wasn't even dressed yet; no way was he going to drag me out of the house when I was still only wearing my pajamas.

"There are finals coming up, Dad. Don't you want me to ace them?" He halted, looking back at me, and I added, "Dad, seriously, I need to go to my classes. It's important to attend especially this close to finals."

He opened his mouth for a comeback, but Mom came to my temporary rescue. "James? Your pager's running amok. I guess they need you at the hospital."

Dad swore, for a moment torn between his job and worry about me, but after years of service in the Navy, his sense of duty took over. He let go of me but gestured warningly when saying, "You stay in bed today. And don't you dare try sneaking out on your mother."

"Dad!"

"I mean it, Chloe," he cut me off. "Don't make me put you under house arrest."

"But –"

He sent me a glare that let me fall silent. I huffed, though. Satisfied I would comply with his order, he then bolted down the stairs and left the house not a few moments later. I still stood in the hallway, listening to the sound of the car engine. Once it had disappeared down the road, Mom slowly came up.

"You heard your father, hon. Off to bed with you."

Throwing up my hands in defeat and sighing, I turned around and threw my bedroom door shut in irritation.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong> A few reviewers already asked about Ratchet and his reaction to Chloe's secret, if he even knows about it. In a couple of replies I promised that everyone's favorite CMO would have his say "in the next chapter" – which would be this one. Though, as you've noticed, the promised scene isn't there. It's already written and I _did_ intend to include it. But when my muse started working on chapter 16, she pulled more than 7k words out of her hat, without even getting _close_ to the scene with Ratchet. I had to move a few scenes ahead into chapter 17 to not make chapter 16 too long, the scene with Ratchet among those moved. It will now definitely appear in the next update, I swear by Ratchet's spark. ;)


	18. Memorability

**Author's Note:** Once again, thanks for the reviews as well as setting this story to email alert and/or putting it to your favorites. I'm glad you all like the story so far.

Update happening tonight rather than tomorrow or on Saturday because this chapter has already been completed a couple of days ago, but also because I'm going to be away over the weekend. So if I don't immediately reply to reviews, that's why. I'm looking forward to hear your opinions on this chapter, though. ;)

Now have fun reading! :)

* * *

><p>– chapter seventeen –<p>

**Memorability**

Lying in bed all day when I was absolutely fine was extremely boring. I attempted to read for a little bit, but the novel we currently studied in English literature couldn't fascinate me for more than ten minutes. I forced myself to continue reading it, not knowing how much today's class would cover, but after only another page, I gave up and threw the book onto my desk. I put too much momentum into the throw so that the book slid off the desk and landed in a corner, upside down. I couldn't care less about a couple of wrinkled pages, though.

Mom tried to make the day a little bit more pleasant. Halfway toward lunch, she came up, bringing Freda. She sat on the edge of my bed, holding my little sister in a way that she faced me. We talked a bit and in-between, I pulled funny faces for Freda's amusement. At one point she reached out for me and Mom handed her over after I sat up.

"You know, your father's only like this because he worries about you," Mom said quietly after a moment of comfortable silence. "When you started screaming this morning…" She sighed.

I wriggled my fingers in front of Freda's face and she tried to grab them, all the while gurgling happily. "I didn't realize I was screaming," I eventually murmured. Looking up at Mom, I said, "I didn't want to scare either of you."

Mom smiled and reached out, cupping my cheek. "I know, honey."

Dad called briefly before lunch, asking about me. Mom could placate him, telling him I was in bed like ordered, and that there had been no more episode of unexpected pain and screaming. He needn't worry about me. When she eventually hung up – Dad could be _very_ persistent – she called me down for lunch. "What about Dad's order?" I asked.

"He's busy, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Get down here or the soup is going to get cold."

Afterward she allowed me to watch TV for a little bit while she nursed Freda, but when my sister was put down for her nap, I went back into my room. Deciding that just lying around doing nothing wouldn't do me a favor, I grabbed my physics book and did some revising. Besides, mechanics were loads more interesting than reading _Romeo & Juliet._

Early afternoon, a car halted in front of the house. I thought that Dad had returned home early, but after the car door was shut, the bell rang. Mom went to open the door and when I listened from upstairs, I recognized Annabelle's voice. "Seeing that it's only another week till finals, I thought she'd need the notes from the classes," my friend was just saying.

"That's very considerate of you," Mom said. "Come on in. Chloe's upstairs in her room. Just go ahead." Then she called, "Chloe, Annabelle's here to visit you."

Not knowing whether she knew I had been listening, I did a show of opening my bedroom door. "Thanks." Then Annabelle's head appeared on the stairs. She smiled in relief when seeing me up and about.

I invited her into my room, absent-mindedly realizing she'd never before been in here. "Please excuse the mess. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have cleaned up."

She laughed. "Don't worry. It at least looks like someone's living in here." I laughed right along.

We sat down on my bed and talked about mundane things for a couple of minutes before Annabelle reached for her bag. "I caught Sandra during lunch break and talked her into lending me her notebook to copy it for you. They've covered quite a bit in the morning classes."

I groaned, flipping through the papers Annabelle handed me. She was right, but apparently, our teachers had focused intensively on revisions. There wasn't anything new from what I could discern on first glance. I would have to carefully read through the notes though once Annabelle was gone. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." She smiled. "Do you think you'll be back tomorrow?"

I shrugged. "I hope so. Another day like this and I'll die from boredom."

She giggled. "I have a cure for that one."

"Oh?"

Nodding, she said, "Yep. Football. Dad's hosting a game this coming Saturday. Everyone will be there and it would be great if you joined us. It's really fun."

I frowned in thought. "It's the Memorial Day weekend, isn't it?"

"I know," Annabelle replied, smiling. "Which is why this game is going to be a _really_ big event for us."

I grinned. "Sounds interesting. I'd love to be there. But I guess Dad will make the final decision."

Annabelle sighed. "I hope he allows you to come. It would be a pity if you missed it."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

She then stood. "Gotta go, Mom's waiting outside. Hope to see you tomorrow. Get better quickly."

I showed her downstairs. "Thanks. And thanks for the invitation."

"Anytime." She waved for goodbye before quickly walking over to the waiting car and getting in. I nodded toward Mrs. Lennox before they peeled out of our driveway. I stood in the door until the car had turned the corner at the end of the road before going back inside.

Mom was in the kitchen. "Want something to eat, hon?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks. But I might need the computer for my homework." She sent me a glance and I explained, "Annabelle handed me some notes, and from what I've seen, they've been talking about news in world history. I will have to look for it online because there was no text copy within the notes. I assume Mr. Latch showed them a vid." Mom continued giving me that look, so I asked, "What?"

"Your father might be home in a little bit. Can you guess what he will say when he finds you up and about in front of the computer when he ordered bed rest for you?"

I sighed heavily. "I'm fine, Mom."

She cupped my cheek with a hand. "I know, sweetie," she said softly, "but you know how your father gets. So back to bed with you."

Grumbling in frustration, I turned around and marched back upstairs.

Instead of going through the notes of today's classes, I continued with revising physics. Only once that was covered, I took up the copies Annabelle had brought, quickly sorting them in a handful of piles, one for each class. Sandra's handwriting was clear and easily discernible; I wouldn't have any trouble reading through what she noted down in order to get me up to date. And true enough, after only ten minutes I had worked through chemistry and biology. Spanish took a little while longer, but since it was mostly revisions and no new vocabulary or grammar to cram, I was done going through these notes within half an hour as well.

Which left me with English literature and world history. For the former, there were hardly any notes; I guessed that Mrs. Bent merely had people read passages of _Romeo & Juliet_, or Sandra took the notes directly into her copy of the book. There wasn't even an indication of how much they got covered. I sighed and put the one page aside, instead focusing on world history.

There wasn't much written down for that class either, but Sandra had at least noted that they had at first watched a news feed from the beginning of September in 2009 before discussing it in class. I absent-mindedly wondered what the discussion had been like; Mr. Latch usually lectured and questioned for facts, but never really let us discuss a topic. I had the impression he preferred imposing his view on us rather than have us form our own opinions. In that regard I missed Mrs. Neegale; she had encouraged discussions, and those classes had always been fun to attend.

The notes weren't very detailed, so I was through them within a couple of minutes. Without watching the news in question, however, I wouldn't be able to understand the context of what I had just read. Headwords like "fleet attacked, lots of deaths" and "world panic" to name just two were so broad, it could refer to anything. Which brought me back to my problem; I needed the computer.

As if on cue, a car drove up, and sure enough, it was Dad coming home. I cracked open my bedroom door and heard him greet Mom and Freda in the hallway. "And how's Chloe?" he then asked.

"Better than just fine," Mom replied.

He grunted and said, "I'll check up on her," before making his way upstairs.

I quickly closed my door and snuggled back into bed, anxious about what he would say. I needn't have worried though. He took one glance at me and, seeing me wide awake and fine, nodded, satisfied. "No more headaches?" he inquired.

"No more headaches."

Dad nodded again. "Okay. I suppose you can get out of bed then."

"Thanks." And up I was, stretching. Dad watched me for another moment before turning around, wanting to leave. I held him back. "Uh, Dad, Annabelle came over a little while ago. She brought notes from my classes." He nodded, indicating he was listening, so I continued, "They talked about news of great importance in world history. The notes Annabelle brought don't make sense though, without me having seen the news feed. It must have been a video because there was no text copy."

"And you need the computer."

"Yeah, I need the computer."

"All right," he agreed almost instantly.

I smiled, inwardly sighing in relief. "Thanks. By the way, Annabelle invited me over for Saturday. Her Dad's organizing a football match." I paused, carefully watching his expression before adding, "May I go? Please?"

He pursed his lips pensively for a moment. Eventually, he slowly said, "In general, fine by me. But let's make it a spontaneous decision, depending on how much more 'headaches' you have throughout the week."

My smile turned to a grin and I fell around his neck, hugging him. "Thank you!"

He returned the hug before letting me go again. "Remember, we'll decide –"

"– spontaneously, I know, I know," I quickly said. "Still, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now go down to watch that news."

I bounced around like a hyper preschooler, but I didn't care. Grabbing the copy of Sandra's notes as well as my notebook and a pen, I followed Dad downstairs. He went to help Mom in the kitchen while I booted up the computer.

Armed with the time of the news and several keywords, I thought I should be able to unearth the feed relatively quickly even though Sandra's notes had been quite vague. Far from it. My research did produce results, and most often they were the same, but the videos always only linked to some strange trailer showing an odd, nonhuman face with red glowing eyes. Seeing that I wasn't looking for a sci-fi movie or its trailers, I passed them by until I found a website called The Real Effing Deal. The keywords I was using were all spread over a discussion thread. I skimmed through the posts.

There were dozens of messages of obviously alarmed people. Several posts were along the lines of "terrorist attack," "downtown explosions" or "meteor shower strikes Paris," one even read "Roosevelt destroyed in seconds. Guys, I tell you, it's the end of the world."

One post contained a link to MSNBC. I clicked it.

And saw the nonhuman face with red eyes again.

Only, it was no trailer as I had thought. It was news, dated September 2009. I had found the one Mr. Latch had shown in class.

There were lots of news videos from all over the world. I clicked on one and watched a woman report from downtown Paris. Two meteors had hit the capital of France, one crashing into a street, hitting two cars and setting them on fire. People started running around in panic. "And only a little while later, a dozen people were injured when a second meteor hit –" she told the camera, but I chose another video. This one reported that strange giants had been sighted on skyscrapers and bridge towers in New York City.

But the most shocking was seeing a feed of the remains of a very large aircraft-carrier slowly disappear in the ocean while a huge column of gray smoke rose heavenward. All the while, a reporter announced that not a single life aboard the USS Roosevelt had been able to be saved; several thousand people died that day. I watched in growing horror.

And then there was a video with the nonhuman face with the red eyes. Half wary, half curious I clicked it.

"Citizens of the human hive," the creature spoke, the voice sounding like it came from the depths of my worst nightmares, "your leaders have withheld the truth. You are not alone in this universe." The picture flickered the entire time, flashes of various news reports popping up, obscuring the face every now and then before it was discernible again. "We have lived among you, hidden, but no more. As you've seen, we can destroy your cities at will, unless you turn over this boy." The driver's license, ID and security pass of a person popped up, but they flickered out again before the picture firmly settled onto the photo of a young man. "If you resist us, we will destroy the world as you know it."*

There were more news feeds from all across the world, but I didn't care watching anything else. The feed of the obviously metallic, otherworldly creature had unsettled me.

"So you found the 'Droid of Death' transmission," Dad spoke softly.

I turned around to look at him where he leaned against the living room's doorframe. "Droid of Death?"

He nodded. "That's how most people called it – still do today. Even though it's been more than ten years since it was broadcast."

I looked back toward the screen. "Did… did this… creature find the boy it was looking for?"

Instead of clearly answering my question, Dad replied with one of his own. "Does the world still exist or have we been destroyed?"

Cold washed down my spine when I realized what he meant. What happened to the boy? Was he killed? How did his parents react to the news? How did the boy feel when he learned that metal creatures were looking for him? I wondered what I would have done had it been me in his stead. Probably break down after panicking.

Dad didn't speak for a long while, but eventually, he gently said, "Mom has dinner ready. Let's go eat."

I nodded, feeling like in trance. I couldn't stop thinking about the transmission I had just seen for the rest of the evening. And later at night, after months of nightmare-free sleep, I once again dreamed about the giant with gleaming eyes towering over me.

…

I had wanted to speak with Annabelle about it, had wanted to ask her whether she had seen the 'Droid of Death' feed too. But with only a couple of days left before finals, my mind was busy concentrating on revisions, cramming vocabulary and memorizing formulas, so I forgot about my self-set mission. In addition, on Thursday afternoon, R.C. came over for one last Spanish tutor session this semester, and she was quizzing me on grammar for over an hour until my head swam. Over dinner, I noticed another headache approaching, so I ignored my revision plan and instead went to bed early. I didn't get much sleep though; I had the nightmare again, and I woke several times throughout the night.

Friday wasn't much better in regard to the workload in class, but at least I was spared by another headache. The day still wore me out enough so I once again hit the sack early. I still had my hopes up that, with lots of sleep, I would be fit enough the next day.

When waking up late on Saturday morning, I felt relaxed and like I could conquer the world if I wanted to. I quickly got dressed and went down for breakfast, a little wary about what Dad would say. After all, he still needed to give me his 'spontaneous' permission to go over to Annabelle's place for the football match.

Since Mom was in the living room, nursing Freda, it was Dad already preparing lunch. When I entered the kitchen, he was peeling an onion, but he looked up. "Morning," he greeted. "How are you? Any headaches?"

"Nope. And I never felt better," I replied honestly. I grabbed a glass and poured me some orange juice, then buttered me a toast to quench the worst hunger and tide me over to lunch.

Dad watched me carefully for a moment, but then he nodded. "You may go." A grin started forming on my face, but it melted away again when Dad asked, "Did Annabelle say if someone will get you?"

"Err… no, actually. We didn't talk about it after she invited me." I pursed my lips. "You couldn't possible bring me, could you?"

He turned back to the onion, dicing it. "I would, but there's been a shift change at the hospital and I'm on duty this afternoon."

"Oh." I sighed. "I'll take the bike then, I suppose."

That proved unnecessary, however. Just when we cleared the lunch table, the bell rang and I went to answer it. "Hey, Chloe," R.C. greeted me with a grin. "Need a chauffeur?"

I blushed but nodded once. "How did you know?"

She grinned. "I'm good at mind-reading." She winked at me. I snorted but didn't ask again.

We arrived at the Lennox's place a little while later. When I climbed off R.C.'s bike, I ogled at the various cars parked at the lawn. "Wow. Where did you get all those?"

R.C. laughed. "Long story; I'll tell you another time. Let's hurry or they'll start without us. And I want to play." Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and delight, and I couldn't help but wonder why a woman like R.C. was so excited about going to battle with soldiers like Colonel Lennox.

When we rounded the house, Annabelle was busy setting field markers while the colonel, Mrs. Lennox and Mrs. Epps were decking the picnic table. Several of the men were milling about, talking and laughing – in other words, they simply enjoyed a beautiful day.

R.C. walked over to where Mia comfortably lounged on the veranda and I made to follow her, but Dad's colleague stepped into my way, holding me back. "Chloe," he greeted curtly before eyeing me thoroughly from head to toe with a frown.

I gritted my teeth; it seemed he turned out to be just as irritating as Dad had been over the last days. Were all doctors like that? Trying to be polite, I said, "Mr. Hatchett, nice to see you again. How are you doing?"

His eyes snapped back up to mine. "I'm doing fine," he grunted. "How are you?"

Smiling widely, I said, "I'm great. Never felt better."

His frown deepened. "Really?" he mumbled, making it sound like half-question, half-statement.

Now it was my turn to frown. Mr. Hatchett confused me, but a voice in the back of my head suggested being careful where he was concerned; his behavior certainly was suspicious. Couldn't hurt to be cautious, I told myself, so I replied, "Of course. Why shouldn't I feel fine?"

"I never said you shouldn't. I was just… concerned that you didn't."

_Okay…_ I thought; something was definitely amiss with him. I backed away a step. "I would go see a doctor if I don't feel well," I said, challenging him on purpose.

He accepted it with a murmured "Would you now?"

"Of course," I shot back.

There was a moment of silence and then he said, "I'll be honest: I don't think you're well." He paused before adding resolutely, "In fact, I insist on checking you through."

An icy cold shudder ran down my spine. Did he know of the metal coating my skin? If so, how? I had never told anyone so far, and even if Dad suspected, he had never shown an indication that he did. In any case, I doubted Dad would have told his colleague. So the question remained: How could Mr. Hatchett know about it – because right now, to me, it looked like he did know.

Taking another step back and raising my hands defensively, I said, "No."

He blinked in confusion at first, but then his look turned into a glare. "No," he repeated in this half-question, half-statement fashion of before.

"No," I confirmed and brought with another step more distance between us.

He followed me, his entire demeanor changing from friendly to… stalking? He wasn't a predator, although if one really wanted to see me as the doctor's prey, that would work. But I was looking for another word here. Angry? Furious? No, that was too much. Determined? That could work. He was determined to get his hands on me for a check.

But I wouldn't let him. No one must ever find out about the metal coating my skin. And as long as he was stalking me, I would get out of his way.

He seemed to realize what my reaction to his attack was, so he stopped. "Chloe, you really should let me check on you. I know you're not well."

All right… I was positively sure he couldn't know about the metal coating because I kept it a secret. Maybe he meant something completely different, and I was having a panic attack for nothing. "Why?" I asked.

"To make you better of course," came the immediate reply.

I shook my head. "I meant why do you think I'm not well?"

He had opened his mouth for a reply when I started to speak, but when I finished my paraphrase, he remained silent. And I was certain I saw something like shock or surprise cross his features for a second before he smoothed them out. Eventually, he slowly said, "That's… hard to explain –"

"Try me," I challenged.

Something inside him seemed to snap. The friendly Mr. Hatchett I knew was replaced by someone ruled by a bad temper. "This isn't the right time and place for games, Chloe," he said curtly. "You must come with me."

Well, two can play the game. "I must do nothing," I shot back heatedly. "If you can't even explain to me why you think I'm in need of medical attention, then I don't need any."

He huffed. "You're just a little girl. What do you know about medicine and who needs what?"

"I know myself."

"You're a teenager. You don't know anything."

Fine. So he wanted to patronize a child? _Fine!_ I would show him how much I would let myself be patronized by a stranger. "I know myself well enough, thank you," I shouted back at him. "Besides, as you very well know, my father is a physician. He will take care of me when I need a doctor."

Before Mr. Hatchett could say anything else, Mr. Prowl stepped toward us. He frowned first at me and then at his co-worker. "What's going on here?" he asked in a tone that forbade another shouting match.

"Chloe defies my order to have herself checked by me," Mr. Hatchett said, his temper still audible in his voice.

"I don't need a stranger telling me what I must and mustn't do," I retorted before Mr. Prowl could direct the word toward me. To my surprise, both men flinched slightly at my words.

Mr. Prowl was the first to recover his smooth expression. "She's right, Ratchet. Leave her be."

"But –" he started to argue.

A hand came down on my shoulder and I jumped in shock. Turning my head I saw Mr. Prime stand behind me. He didn't meet my eyes, though, instead fixedly looking at Mr. Hatchett. "Prowl's right, Ratchet. We cannot force Chloe to anything. If she says she's fine, you must trust her to know that much about herself." He squeezed my shoulder once, then let go.

I didn't wait for Mr. Hatchett's explanation, turning around and bringing as much distance between Mr. Hatchett and myself as possible. Besides, thanks to the argument, my head was now pounding with another horrible headache. I sought some quiet inside the house.

Where the outdoors had been hot and humid, the kitchen was well-tempered. I sat at the table and folded my arms, then put my head down and closed my eyes. My heart was beating wildly against my ribcage, still elated from the argument. But when I slowly calmed down, the pounding in my head eased too. The headache didn't vanish completely, but it was loads better to bear.

I was just sitting back up straight when I heard the washing machine start before someone moved in the hallway. I frowned and went to look. It was Annabelle. She didn't notice me and vanished in the living room. She looked kind of nervous I thought, but there was also a determined gleam in her eyes.

Getting thirsty, I took a glass and got me some water, before filling a second glass for my friend. However, when I stepped into the hallway to bring her the drink, a young man entered the living room without noticing me.

I only saw him for about a second, but it was enough for the world to stop rotating. Time slowed down while I stared at where he had just been. I had no idea who he was. It didn't matter. There was something about that man that just… drew me to him. My heart couldn't decide between beating faster and slowing down. Warmth crawled into my cheeks and the headache gained intensity once more, but I no longer cared. I needed to see him again, needed to hear him speak. But I couldn't move; I literally stood rooted to the spot.

Eventually, Annabelle emerged from the living room – without the young man but with Mr. Prime. "Chloe," she said, surprised to see me standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "You all right?" she asked when I didn't reply.

I blinked for the first time in what felt like eternity, blushing when I noticed the scrutinizing look Mr. Prime sent in my direction. "I'm fine." Remembering the glass I still held, I handed it over. "Got that for you."

She smiled. "Thanks." While taking a sip, she walked over to the deep freeze. "Here's the ice Mom asked for, Optimus."

"I'll get it to her. Thank you, Annabelle." He went back outside, but not before sending me another careful glance.

Once he was gone, I sank onto one of the chairs, sighing. Annabelle was instantly at my side. "Chloe? What is it?" she asked. "Shall I get Ratchet?"

My head snapped up before shaking wildly. "Anyone but Mr. Hatchett," I said. My response obviously didn't reassure Annabelle because she sported a worried expression, her forehead deeply furrowed. "Um… I'm okay. I'm fine. It's nothing," I added lamely.

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it, but Annabelle's frown deepened even more. Grabbing a chair, she sat down next to me. "You look anything but fine. What happened? Are you ill?" She reached out to check my forehead's temperature.

I shook my head. "No, I'm not ill. I just…" I sighed, but it was a blissful sigh. I felt how a small smile crept into my face.

Annabelle raised her eyebrows. "You just…?" she probed with a tone that meant she knew there was something big going on.

I smiled shyly at her, blushing. "I just met the boy of my dreams," I told her in a whisper.

She looked at me with a shocked expression for a moment, then her face brightened. "Really? But that's wonderful!" she exclaimed and took my hands. "What is he like? And where did you meet?"

My expression grew sheepish I thought. "Well… I didn't really _meet_ him. I just… saw him would be more like it."

"Too bad." Annabelle sighed in disappointment. "And where did you see him? Maybe we can catch up with him so you get some time together," she added thoughtfully.

I shook my head, again frantically. "I'd rather you didn't." I sighed, feeling like the entire world's problems rested on my shoulders.

"Why not?"

"Because… well, what could I possibly say to him? Besides, what is someone like him supposed to do with me?"

Annabelle frowned. "Stop that right now, Chloe, you hear me? You're a wonderful girl and any guy would be lucky to have you as his girlfriend." I grimaced at the well-meant rebuke, looking down at the table. "So, where did you see him?" my friend repeated her earlier question.

I sighed again. "He walked into the living room, shortly after you went in there. I didn't see him come out yet, and apart from Mr. Prime, I heard no one cross the hallway."

Annabelle didn't answer for quite a while, so I looked up at her. She had paled and looked… guilty? No, not guilty. Her expression was very hard to describe, but I thought I detected some form of surprise, shock and repulsion – or something similar to those. "What?" I asked.

She blinked a couple of times and bit her lip. Then she slowly said, "I know him. He… he left already."

"… Oh." I could feel how my face fell.

She took my hand and squeezed it. "Sorry. If I had known, I'd have introduced you."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay."

Her hand squeezed mine again, then the backdoor opened and Mia called, "Annabelle, Chloe, the game's starting. You coming?"

Holding Annabelle's eyes and seeing the question clearly written in them, I said, "No really, it's all right. Don't worry about it." I smiled and stood, the headache forgotten. "Let's enjoy the football game."

My friend sent me a tentative smile before following me back outside.

The afternoon was lots of fun. The game was incredibly exciting, with many brawls rising up wherever Mr. Hyde or the twins were concerned. Usually, Mr. Prowl had them under control quickly, or Mrs. Lennox – who was refereeing – ordered a timeout. But both teams were quite even-matched so that the game never became boring. Afterwards, we had picnic under canopies. There were lots of jokes being told, mainly by Mr. Sunny and Mr. Sides, but the younger twins matched them with adventurous sci-fi stories.

The only downside was Mr. Hatchett every now and then glaring at me. I gave him a wide berth, but I nonetheless noticed when he watched me like a hawk. There were two incidences when he attempted coming over to me, obviously looking to take up the argument of earlier, but in both cases, Mr. Prime stepped in and held the doctor off my back.

The heat didn't make things easier, especially where that damn headache was concerned, so after only four hours, I was ready to go home. Annabelle noticed quickly what was amiss. "I'll ask Dad to get you home," she said and stood.

Before she could leave, though, R.C. reached out and caught her wrist. She said, "I'll take you, Chloe. No need to bother Will." When Annabelle nodded and sat back down, I noticed Mr. Hatchett watching us. R.C. caught his eyes, and both of them stared at each other for a moment. The doctor then nodded before turning his attention back toward the conversation he had with Mr. Prime and Mr. Prowl.

"Thanks," I said, accepting R.C.'s offer gratefully.

…

The rest of the weekend was spent with revisions. I wouldn't have bothered coming downstairs at all, but Mom insisted I eat regularly. And Dad argued that for proper brain activity, I needed nutrients. So I trudged downstairs three times a day to wolf down my food before locking myself into my bedroom once more.

On Tuesday morning, I sat my math and biology finals. Both went relatively smoothly, and I walked over to gym class feeling certain that I'd receive good grades.

The PE finals, however, were another story. We were playing basketball and would be graded on how well we played in a team. My team consisted of my class whereas Annabelle's team of her class. Thank God we didn't have to play against each other; she sat at the sideline while I was on the field.

My peers knew I was bad at sports so they never threw the ball in my direction. I was grateful for that, but that meant I wouldn't get a good grade. I didn't really care about it though. If it were for me, gym class would be erased from curriculums.

Everyone was just running toward my team's basket when there was a stab into my side. I stopped running and doubled over, groaning when a vicious headache joined the attack. Someone suddenly shouted "Chloe, look out!" Glancing up through hazy eyes, I saw the ball coming my way at top speed much too late.

It hit me right into my face and knocked me backwards, my head colliding with the floor. My vision blurred with darkness.

"_Chloe_!" Annabelle screamed, bordering on hysteric, drowning out everyone else's shouts. It was the last thing I heard before everything turned black.

* * *

><p>* Credit for the speech goes to the makers of "Transformers – Revenge of the Fallen." I just borrowed the Fallen's words for my story.<p> 


	19. Dark As They Come

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for all the feedback. More than 100 reviews for this story – WOW! It's been an amazing adventure so far, and I'm looking forward to what's still to come, but I'm more than just excited to share it all with you. Without you, this story would have died quite some time ago already. :) So thank you.

Most of you wondered who the person was Chloe saw in the last chapter. Well… if you read "Introductions: Annabelle Lennox" by the Botosphere, you should know. That 'meeting' will play a big role later on in my story, but my lips are sealed. *zips lips and throws key away*

We now come to one of my personal favorite chapters. It was originally supposed to be chapter fourteen, but my muse had other ideas. The more I'm excited to finally share it with you. :) I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p>– chapter eighteen –<p>

**Dark As They Come**

I didn't know whether I was dreaming or awake. I felt oddly at peace with myself, felt like I was weightless. I was warm all over and it was very comfortable, wherever I was. It didn't matter to me.

Nonetheless, I somehow knew my peace was being disturbed. The blackness surrounding me drifted aside to make way for a blotchy gray, and I was aware. Aware of voices floating around, sometimes coming from afar, sometimes from much closer to where I was. It was hard to understand them, but did I really want to know what they were saying? I thought not and slowly slipped back down into the welcoming darkness.

The next resurfacing made me realize I was struggling to awaken. It was as if there was a switch being turned; from one moment to the next, I knew – knew that I had been unconscious, knew that I was now trying to wake up. I remembered what happened before blackness took me, and I automatically sighed. Testing for residual pain, I found there was none. I then noticed the soft blanket and mattress and heard the constant beeping of the machine responsible of monitoring my vitals. So I was in hospital. Figured, I added as an after-thought.

The voices grew gradually sharper until I could understand what they were saying. They even sounded familiar. "… and we think it's time to tell her," someone with Mr. Hatchett's voice was just saying.

"Guess you're right," came the answer from a voice sounding like Dad's, followed by a sigh. "Does it matter that we don't like it?" There was a moment of silence, before he added, "She did so well with hiding it."

A grunt followed before the first person spoke again. "That was an act of complete foolishness, by the both of you." The voice continued to rant, but the darkness returned and I let myself be pulled under again.

When I eventually truly woke up, I found someone familiar staring down at me with an expression that promised doom but radiated smugness at the same time. "Ugh," I groaned. I really could do without a lecture right now.

His lips twitched, fighting to show the smugness I was now certain was there. Instead, Mr. Hatchett said dryly, "So tell me again because I think I misunderstood you the last time we spoke: Didn't you say you knew yourself well enough to know that you are _fine_?" He gave me a pointed look-over. "'Fine' looks different to me."

Blinking away the tiredness and shoving away the lure that wanted to pull me under again, I tried to work myself into a sitting position. I didn't get far, however. For one, Mr. Hatchett immediately reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder to press me back down, but there was also a sting in my right arm's crook. An IV as I found out when slightly turning my head. Realizing I was not going to sit up, I relaxed back into the mattress and Mr. Hatchett stood straight again.

When I turned toward the doctor once more, his expression had changed. He now looked worried. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, albeit a slight gruff was still audible in his voice.

I took a moment to assess myself. "Like someone took a baseball bat and hit me all over," I then mumbled in reply.

He flashed a brief grin before sitting down on the stool at the side of my bed. "We dropped the amount of painkillers being pumped into your system," he explained. "If you hurt too much, let someone know and they'll increase the dose again."

"'kay."

There was a moment of silence, disturbed only by the machine's beeping, but then Mr. Hatchett said, "You do realize you not only scared your classmates and teacher to death, but unnecessarily worried your parents too, don't you?"

"I know," I breathed before asking, "How are Mom and Dad anyway?"

"They're fine," came his reply. "Your mother sort of freaked out when she learned what happened to you, but your father could talk her out of overnight camping at the hospital."

I blinked and lifted my head, scanning the room. Guessing at my intention, Mr. Hatchett said, "They're both at home. Your father had wanted to stay, but then your mother would have too."

"And overnight camping at a hospital with a baby is not the best to do," I concluded.

He nodded. "Exactly."

We didn't speak for a while. Eventually, I asked, "So what now?"

Mr. Hatchett gave me long pensive look before slowly answering, "Your vitals currently read fine. Admittedly, they are a little bit below what I would deem normal, but it's nothing life-threatening so don't worry about it. I suppose that a good night's sleep will let you fully recover, so that you might be able to return home tomorrow."

I nodded. "What about school? I have finals."

"I'd say take it easy tomorrow and rest, but you should be fine returning to school on Thursday." That would mean I missed finals in Spanish and English lit – which was loads better than what happened last year where I never got around to finishing my year-end exams at all. "Though, your father should decide whether or not you are fit enough to sit through tests," Mr. Hatchett added after a moment.

"I suppose you're right," I mumbled, feeling sleepy.

"I usually am right," he replied, but there was humor in his voice. He regarded me for another moment, then said, "Now sleep and get better. When you wake up tomorrow morning, the world will look bright again."

"Mhmmm," I made and then knew nothing anymore.

…

Morning came faster than I thought – or my inner clock was confused. Because when I opened my eyes, they had no trouble adjusting quickly because the room was only dimly lit. Apart from the regular beeping of the machinery monitoring my vitals, it was silent; no one seemed to be around.

Turning my head slightly toward the left, I looked over to the windows. It was dark outside, but I couldn't gauge how late it actually was. A quick glance around the room showed that there was no clock available for me to check the hour. But I knew with certainty that it was the middle of the night.

When I turned my head the other direction in order to see into the hallway through the half-open door, wanting to call for a nurse, I heard the unmistakable rustling of clothes. It was a quiet sound, but I knew I wasn't as alone as thought. "Mr. Hatchett?" I asked, my voice a little raspy. Was he still here? I tried sitting up, but the needle in the crook of my right arm pricked me when I moved. I winced and sank back into the pillow.

The person laughed quietly. "No."

I frowned; I would recognize that voice anywhere, but he sounded… different. "Cole?" I asked incredulously.

He came a little closer but stayed merged with the shadows. I could only see a faint shape, where his body was held in a darker gray than the rest of the room. "Who else did you expect?" he asked before answering the question himself. "Ah, the _doctor_." He weirdly emphasized the last word.

Ignoring it because I had no idea what he meant to tell me with that, I instead asked, "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

A soft scraping sound reached my ears, and the shape shrank in size. Cole had obviously pulled up a chair and sat down. "It's three in the morning," he replied gently.

Silence fell over us, and I once again wondered what brought him here. Since he didn't continue speaking, I asked, "Why aren't you at home in bed?"

He laughed again, but it didn't sound presumptuous… or patronizing. "I came here to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night," I deadpanned.

"When else will I get a chance to catch you alone?"

He didn't elaborate his vagueness any further, so I inquired, "Okay, you got me. I take the bait." I paused for a heartbeat, then added, "What do you want?" Even to my ears, I sounded weak, but I no longer had the strength left to fight him. I was tired, I hurt all over, and my head felt like it developed another headache. Besides, Cole had never bothered listening to me to begin with. He wouldn't start now only because I lay incapacitated in a hospital bed.

To my surprise, he didn't react in his usual arrogant self. "I meant what I said, Chloe. I'm here because I wanted to talk to you. When you aren't surrounded by _them_."

I frowned in confusion. "Who do you mean?"

He prepared for an answer – I heard him inhale – but sudden footfall in the hallway cut him off. We listened into the dead of the night, but the person never made it even close to my room. Still, we remained silent for another few long moments until the footsteps had faded again, before Cole spoke. "What you have to understand is that, all the time, I tried to persuade you to see my side. You never cared to listen."

I huffed. "All you did was harassing me, Cole. You never said anything to me that wasn't related to you trying to ask me to dates, and later you kissed me."

"It was you who kissed me first," he corrected, and I had to admit, with self-loathing, that he was right. It had never been my intention though, and I told him that. He didn't reply for a moment, then he slowly said, "I admit, I was kind of surprised that you suddenly found interest in me. The more I was glad you were back to denying that there was anything between us."

His answer completely threw me. "_What_?" I hissed, half incredulous, half confused.

"All the time, I tried to get you to see that there was something between us that no one else would get, that no one else would be able to ever understand. What happened to us forged a bond between us. I wanted you to see it, wanted you to follow its direction, but you were blind and deaf, never realizing what it all meant. Then they came and said that if I didn't prove successful in getting you to understand, they would do it. I begged them to not interfere, swore that you would come around eventually, all by yourself with a little coaxing from me. But you continued fighting it.

"And then, all of a sudden, you trusted me and followed what the bond told you to do. You acknowledged it. You caught me by surprise. That wasn't you. So I thought they had interfered, despite their promises to keep out of it. But then you were back to your normal self, and I was glad because it meant they hadn't gotten to you, that I still had my chance."

What he said sounded oddly familiar with what Louisa had told me; that didn't make it any more understandable though. Where they talking about the same thing? With him having fallen silent, I used my chance to speak up. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you want from me, Cole?"

Instead of answering, he stood and came over. His face appeared in the cone of light falling into the room from the hallway. He looked different, and I was certain it wasn't because of the semidarkness. His hand grasped mine and squeezed it gently. "Come with me and I'll show you, Chloe," he said quietly, sounding serious. "I promise you will then understand everything."

I sighed. "I'm bedridden in case you didn't notice," I replied. "I broke down in gym class."

"I know," he breathed softly.

I perked up. How did he know that? He hadn't been in school for a while; the last time I saw him was when he told me about pressure points. So how did he know about me collapsing in gym class?

His fingers suddenly wandering up my lower arm stopped my train of thought. Once they reached the needle inserted into my elbow crease, they gently removed it. I hissed at the momentary prick. "Sorry," he mumbled, actually sounding like he meant it. The Cole standing in my room was a different, now gentle and caring person.

And no matter what I had thought about him in the past: this changed Cole was alluring.

His shadow came even closer until his head was next to mine. "No more patronizing," he breathed into my ear, "no more disrespect. You'll be held in honor." His arm then slid below my shoulders and gently helped me sit up.

I was torn. What were his intentions? His timing of seeking me out was unusual and yet… somehow very fitting to strange things happening as of late. On the one hand I was curious; Cole seemed to know what was going on. He would be able to answer all my questions, I was sure of that, and there were a lot of them, having accumulated over the months. But I was also scared. I still saw Louisa's expression in front of me, and a cold shudder ran down my spine. Did I really want to go with Cole and learn what he promised to tell me?

When I sat on the edge of the bed, my bare feet already touching the floor, I made a decision. I hesitated.

Cole noticed. "Why do you resist so much?" he asked, sounding a little exasperated, but also still trying to convince me. "You feel it, don't you, Chloe? The pull of strength, of power. You want it, you desire it. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes."

Power? What the hell was he talking about? I wanted answers, nothing else. Besides, he started to really creep me out. My resistance therefore hardened, and when I spoke, it was with as much venom in my voice as possible. "You know nothing about me."

Cole laughed amused. "Really? Then why do I know about your slowly changing body whereas your parents still don't have a clue?"

I blinked in surprise. "How do you know?" I breathed.

"Because you and I are the same," he softly said and held out his hand. "Come with me, and I'll show you."

I was still hesitating, but I felt how my resistance slowly crumbled, like a wall falling apart piece by piece. His voice was so… hypnotic.

And then I was moving without conscious will.

Cole led me out into the hallway. It was empty, but we nonetheless moved quietly and swiftly. I wondered how it was possible that we stayed undetected, but no one came to stop us. We reached the door, and then we were outside the building.

Cole turned toward the coast, staying away from the road. I followed him mindlessly, feeling like a puppet: I didn't want to act, but I was powerless against the will he had over me. My mind protested loudly, told me that I hated Cole and should rather stay away from him, as far as possible. But there was the lure that silenced the mental uprising and kept me moving; Cole had changed, and I wanted to know why. The arrogance that had always surrounded him like a foggy bubble was still there, but now it was different. Cole had lost the obnoxious air of artificial superiority and replaced it with a mixture of insecurity and confidence that was as strange as it was fascinating. That blend scared me; if I didn't know any better I would have said that he had aligned with the devil and was now in possession of powers beyond what was humanly possible – after all, in the stories the devil always had such special talents. Then I realized that I _didn't_ know better. Who was Cole really? Something told me I needed to find out exactly that, no matter what, and that was what made me follow him this blindly.

We continued to wander through the night until we reached a remote beach. I thought I recognized the location, but couldn't be sure. The formation of the palm trees seemed familiar, but at this hour and in the absence of the sunlight the place looked frightening. In addition, a soft but chilly wind blew in from the ocean, leaving goosebumps along my arms and spine.

Cole stopped at the edge of the water and got rid of his shoes. He took first one, then another step until the tide gently lapped at his now bare feet. Clouds covered the sky, but in the little light the moon still provided, I could see something silvery where the water touched his skin. The sight reminded me of the metallic blotches and slivers that covered my skin. Suddenly, I remembered his words from before, in the hospital. He knew what was happening to me, and in answer to my question had said that he and I were the same. Had Cole been kidnapped too? Did he experience the same skin alterations?

The silence of the night continued engulfing us. Cole seemed to wait – for something to happen? Or rather a someone? The question answered itself the next moment when a shadow stepped out of the line of trees. It halted when noticing us, hesitating in its advance, but then it continued forward with determined strides. As soon as the figure stood in front of us, I recognized her.

Louisa at first stared at me in surprise, then she turned toward Cole, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "What is she doing here?" she malevolently asked him. "You said you'd be meeting me alone."

Cole at first didn't react and I wondered if maybe he hadn't heard her. But then he slowly lifted his head to meet Louisa's glare head on. "She is important," was all he said in a calm yet resolute tone.

Louisa bristled and I sympathized with her, even though I was the reason she was hostile. "And I'm not?" she scoffed. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she said, "What exactly are you playing at? What is with you? I don't recognize you anymore. You used to love me – and only me."

Silence fell over us, then…

"I'm not playing at anything," Cole simply replied, "and I'm still the same." He paused, ignoring the accusation of no longer loving her, before adding, "Though, there _is_ an intention to my actions."

"And what would that intention be?" Louisa shot right back at him.

Looking first at me, then at Louisa, he softly said, "The both of you, come with me. With us." He gestured behind himself.

To both Louisa's and my surprise, another figure had appeared out of nowhere. I was certain it hadn't stood there just a moment ago. But now it was, the shadow clearly discernible in the dim moonlight. We couldn't see the face except for two red spots where the eyes should be. It was impossible to know for certain who the person was – if it was a person at all and not just a figment of my imagination. It was hard to believe it existed because the figure didn't move; it only stared.

I had nearly all forgotten about Cole until he added, "You'll be assets to the team."

That broke the daze I had been in the entire time, replacing it with sudden terror. "Team?" I croaked. My gut instinct told me something was definitely not right.

Louisa too turned suspicious. "What kind of team?" she asked, her tone wavering slightly with uncertainty.

Some ray of light met our group, revealing a fanatic gleam in Cole's eyes. "We're gonna rule."

"Rule what?" Louisa demanded. "Damn it, Cole, do I have to pull every teensy bit of information out of your nose?"

He laughed lowly. "We'll rule the world of course," he said, as if it was the most obvious. And then he opened his jacket and shrugged it off. He didn't wear anything beneath which made the metal coating the entirety of his stomach and chest glitter silvery in the moonlight.

Thunderstruck, I stumbled backwards, absent-mindedly noticing that Louisa mirrored my actions. All the while my ears rang with screams. Was it me screaming? Louisa? Or the both of us? I didn't care. I couldn't care. I needed to get away from the creature that had once been Cole.

When I turned around to sprint away, I collided with something hard, momentarily making me dizzy. I didn't fall for a hand grabbed my upper arm rather forcefully, keeping me upright. I looked upward and froze, the terror within me swelling to new heights. I had collided with a human-sized figure, but it was completely made out of metal. It had red eyes that glared eerily down at me.

The shadow-figure of earlier. I hadn't even heard it move.

Suddenly, its grip tightened and I cried out in pain. My arm was quickly bent behind my back. I struggled to free myself, but when pain shot through my shoulder, I cried out again and ceased all movement. My shoulder ached and my heart was beating wildly. While I tried to calm myself – unsuccessfully – I noticed Louisa next to me. I glanced sideways; she was held in very much the same fashion as I, though she was still fighting and glared daggers at Cole. With morbid curiosity I realized the metal hand holding Louisa had similarities with a human hand, although the silver-gray fingers strongly reminded me of hawk claws.

"Listen to me!" Cole spoke resolutely. My head snapped around to look at where he stood in front of us, his expression determined. "We were chosen for something bigger. We're not just teenage kids without a purpose. We're to be assets in a war that's been going on for centuries – and with our help they'll finally win. Don't you want to bathe in the glory of victory?"

Louisa was still struggling wildly, ignoring the certainly painful grip on her arm. "You're nuts!" she screamed at him, fear clearly audible. "You sold your soul to the devil!"

Cole broke out in manic laughter. "No, not the devil. To Megatron."

"Who?" I asked, confused, while Louisa squeaked, "_What_?"

The person holding us spoke up for the first time, and the blood in my veins froze when I recognized the voice of Mr. Latch, despite its metallic nature. "The mightiest Decepticon ever sparked." He turned to the ocean, forcing us to face the same direction. "Behold the Master!"

At first, nothing happened, but then a wave was growing. Only, it wasn't a wave, but as if something was pressing against the ocean's surface, bending the water outward. It then broke and allowed us to glimpse a creature that must come directly from Hell. The head was oddly formed, and despite the absence of the light, the red eyes glowed like fires from the Underworld.

More creatures followed the first one, and they looked just as scary. In addition, the closer they got, the larger they became. They grew to giants, metal giants I realized when the moonlight reflected of the creatures' surface. And they all had red glowing eyes.

They were fixed on us.

"Oh my God…" I breathed, panic taking a tight hold of me, freezing me on the spot. I never realized that the metal figure with Mr. Latch's voice had let go of us.

Thankfully, Louisa had somehow managed to keep a cool head. She assessed the situation quickly and turned around. "Run," she shouted at me, but I couldn't move. She grabbed my shoulders and shook me violently. "Chloe, _run_!" she screamed at my face, panic seeping through her words like a giant tide.

And finally I unfroze.

I made a beeline for the line of palm trees behind us, intending to seek the cover of the underbrush for hiding, but I never got that far. Behind me, there was a mighty _boom boom_, mixed with the sound of metal moving through water at fast speed. There was an odd rush of wind, and when I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw a giant hand reach for me. Panicked, I still had the sense of slightly correcting my course, but it was no use. The hand swept me off my feet, and when my stomach stopped lurching uncomfortably, I found myself held tightly in the hand of one of the metal giants.

It held me up to its face, the red eyes gleaming ominously. My heart fluttered in fear and every now and then seemed to skip a beat. Time had slowed down while the metal giant stared at me, doing God knew whatever. Eventually, the hand holding me was lowered a little, and the giant turned around –

– toward its companions. Five metal giants had gathered at the beach.

Suddenly, there were odd sounds, fast clicks and chirrups coming from the metal giants; were they communicating with each other? Curiosity welled up within me, fighting the panic still seeping through my every nerve. When nothing happened for a few moments, calm spread through me. My heart slowed down to a more healthy measure, and my hearing cleared again when the blood no longer rushed loudly through my ears. The giants' speech grew louder, but I was unable to decipher any of the sounds they made. Whatever they were saying, I couldn't even guess at whether or not they were hostile.

From the distance, a new sound interrupted the conversation at the beach. It made everyone look up in alarm. The largest giant by far, the one Cole had called 'Mechadron' or something, authoritatively gestured in the direction of the island's center – where the base was. I looked in the same direction, and certainly, there was a spot not too far away that was lit brightly. The base was alerted, I thought, wondering whether or not the soldiers would come to our rescue – and what they could do against such metallic giants.

Catching everyone off guard, a streak of red light shot past us, closely missing Mechadron. Alarmed, the slightly smaller giants turned in the direction the shot had originated from and pulled out over-dimensional guns. Then they shot.

And all of a sudden, hell broke loose around us.

I heard Louisa scream in panic before the sound was cut off abruptly. I myself was flung around wildly when the giant holding me turned on its heels. Guns sprang forth from its forearms and were pointed toward the line of palm trees, the one weapon's muzzle mere inches away from my face. When the giant fired them, the heat washing over my face was blistering and I cried out in pain, my skin feeling like it was on fire. I clenched my eyes shut to protect my eyes. The heat still found a way through my lids until my eyes burned.

That was nothing against the impact that all of a sudden threw the giant holding me off its feet. The fingers around my middle tightened painfully for a second before letting go. The sensation of free fall rushed through me. My eyes flew open and I screamed in panic. My arms flailed wildly, but whatever movement I made, it didn't stop the fall.

Mere seconds later, I broke through the surface of the water back first. It _hurt_! While sinking, I absent-mindedly noticed that I hadn't even realized the giant having tried retreating into the ocean. The thought was cut short when water swept into my mouth, me swallowing on instinct. The salty water burned my lungs, and I made the mistake of wanting to cough it out, resulting in more swallowed water. Then instinct kicked in and I fought for survival. Luck had it that I didn't sink far; we were still only a couple of feet away from the beach. Using the ground, I kicked myself upward, somehow able to swim.

When I broke through the surface, I coughed out water and gulped in air greedily – before a sudden maelstrom pulled me underwater again. Caught by surprise, I froze momentarily, before flailing with my legs and arms, fighting to resurface once more.

As soon as I was able to breathe ozone rather than water, I frantically looked around for the shore. It was only a couple of feet away and I started forward. There was another maelstrom pulling at my legs, but it was much weaker so that I could easily free myself and continue swimming to safety. Once my feet hit ground, I stood, wading the last inches. The water was still relatively warm, but the hospital gown I was wearing was now soaking wet, making me shiver a little.

A bang and roar caught my attention and I turned back to look where I came from. The giant that had captured me was battling with another metallic giant, but the newcomer seemed to have the upper hand. It was constantly firing from immense guns mounted on its arms, the force of impact due to the short distance between both taking a bigger toll on its opponent. I stared in shock before letting my gaze sweep around the beach. Mechadron was locked in battle with another giant about his height while the smaller giants exchanged blows and shots with what seemed to be berserker-like streaks of silver and gold.

I was pulled out of staring when a hand roughly grabbed my elbow and pulled me away from the shore. "Chloe! Run!" someone was shouting over the noise the battle made. I dazedly stared at the face of Colonel Lennox before he pushed me in the direction of the palm tree line. I stumbled three steps before halting once again. When I didn't continue on my own, the colonel swore and grabbed my arm, pulling me forward. "Dammit, get out of here!" he shouted just when a stray of red light flashed only a couple of inches above our heads.

"Lennox, look out!" another voice screamed.

The colonel reacted on instinct. He threw himself over me, pulling me off my feet. We landed in the sand and he forced my head down. The heat whooshing past us made my skin prickle angrily and I cried out at the pain. The colonel swore before springing up, hauling me to my feet and then running toward the palm trees. Once there, he turned me around and shouted at my face, "Now run and _hide_!" Then he ran away, joining a few other soldiers that were busy firing on Mechadron.

A sob caught my attention and I glanced toward my left. Louisa sat in front of a bush, hugging her knees. Tears were rolling down her cheeks while she watched the battle with eyes widened in panic. And suddenly my stupor fell off me and I weakly sank onto my knees, no longer having the strength to stay upright, muss less to run anywhere. My hands shook heavily and my stomach was revolting until I couldn't take it anymore and threw up.

Time seemed to come to a halt. Silence encased us while we crouched in front of the bush. The battle still continued, but we were engulfed in a bubble that closed off all sounds. Tears and frantic heartbeats were our only companions, fear holding us in its vice-like grip. It was just Louisa and me; nothing else mattered.

Reality came crashing down on us when there was a violent explosion, just a couple of feet away. There was a metallic shriek that made my hair stand up and skin prickle angrily, and then the world shook when one of the giants crashed onto the ground in front of us like a felled tree. Louisa and I started screaming in terror, drowning out whatever sound the fallen giant made. Jumping up from our crouches, we back-treated further into the underbrush, but another red light whooshing past us cut off our retreat. I bumped into Louisa; she shoved me off her and into a tree. My head hit the trunk before I could balance myself, making me see stars for a moment. Shaking my head to clear it, I blinked –

– and saw two metallic feet stand in front of me. My eyes slowly travelled upward the relatively short – yet still larger than human – body.

"Hiya, Chloe," the small red giant said, lifting an arm in greeting.

I never felt my body hit the ground.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Anyone recognizing any of the 'giants'? ;) (hint: The story's based on movieverse.)

I already wish you all a wonderful Easter weekend, and see you with the next update! :)


	20. Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:** First of all, thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I always love hearing what you think. :)

Secondly, here's the "solution" to the little riddle I left with the last chapter:  
>- <em>the newcomer […] was constantly firing from immense guns mounted on its arms<em> – Ironhide battling one of the 'cons,  
>- <em>Mechadron was locked in battle with another giant about his height<em> – Prime and Megatron dishing it out,  
>- <em>berserker-like streaks of silver and gold<em> – Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and  
>- <em>the small red giant<em> – Mudflap greeting Chloe. :)

Last but not least, my apologies for not updating earlier. I was away without internet access and needed to get back into the swing of things first. But now I present you with chapter 19. Enjoy reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review. :)

* * *

><p>– chapter nineteen –<p>

**Puzzle Pieces**

When I woke up, I found myself looking at a familiar ceiling. I quickly glanced left and right; yep, I was back in the hospital, in even the same room. I sighed and relaxed back into the mattress, closing my eyes, before a sudden thought struck.

Had last night been real or did I simply have a very weird dream?

I opened my eyes again and lifted my head, carefully assessing the room and situation. The IV needle was (again or still?) in my right arm's crook. The window blends were still drawn, but the sunlight nonetheless managed to wriggle through; it was already morning. But apart from that, everything else was like when I had supposedly woken during the night. Sinking back into the pillow, I wondered: dream or reality? It had felt real, but in hindsight, it all seemed so… surreal.

I carefully went over what I remembered. Cole had visited me in the hospital and kidnapped me to the beach where we met with Louisa, and then metal giants had surfaced from the ocean before being battled by more metal giants. Colonel Lennox had been there, and one of the metal giants had even known my name. Since _I_ didn't know any metal giants, none could know me – except in a dream.

There simply was no other explanation. I had been dreaming, albeit quite realistically.

Satisfied that this question had now been answered, I relaxed back. A knock on the door let me perk up again. It was Dad.

"Morning," he greeted when seeing that I was awake. "How are you feeling?" He came over and sat down on the stool Mr. Hatchett had used last night. His expression was gentle, but at the same time… wary? Careful? Did Dad hide something?

_Stupid, you're seeing ghosts_, I told myself. _No wonder after last night's dream_, the voice in the back of my head stated dryly. I shook my head to clear it. Seeing Dad's raised eyebrows, I quickly told him, "I'm okay." His eyebrows rose even higher in incredulity. "Really, Dad, I'm fine," I said resolutely. "Admittedly, I had a strange dream, but that's all. I don't even hurt anymore or anywhere." And that _was_ the truth.

Dad continued to look at me with an incredulous expression, but after another brief moment, he sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "A dream…" he mumbled nearly inaudibly.

I frowned. "What do you mean?" I asked, guarded.

He heaved a deep sigh and looked at me again, softly shaking his head. "Just talking to myself," he replied. He reached out and briefly touched me forehead, then my cheek. "If you feel fine, there should be no problem of you returning home."

I nodded. "Can I sit my finals today? What about tomorrow and Friday?"

"Today, no. If you get released from hospital, you're going straight home and rest. In regard to Thursday and Friday, we'll decide in the mornings, depending on how you're doing."

I sighed in exasperation, but I guessed it was more than I could ask for. "'kay," I mumbled.

They thoroughly checked me through quickly afterward and found nothing amiss, not even a single remainder of a concussion. Double-checking, they took some blood for testing, but when the lab results came around midday, they read normal as well.

When Dad told me the good news, I wondered why no one ever said something about my changing skin. Had they not noticed? How? Especially with me not conscious to hide the metal actively, they should have long since discovered it. But not a single word was mentioned. It was odd and made me worry, but the relief of being allowed to go home took over and I dismissed my worries. Even with the explicit order to take things easy, in my opinion staying at home was loads better than being confined to bed in hospital. At home there would be Mom to talk to or Freda to play with, or more revisions to focus on, whereas at the hospital I'd die from boredom.

Dad drove me home, but he would return back to work as soon as he had dropped me off. We rode in silence; it was a bit uncomfortable because Dad looked like he brooded over something. He didn't address it though. I therefore dismissed the thought again.

Mom was in the kitchen making lunch, but she came into the hall as soon as she heard the front door. She engulfed me in a tight hug and held me close for quite a while, gushing out all sort of nicknames I got over the years. Eventually, she got coherent. "God, Chloe, I'm so glad you're all right," she said, sounding like only mothers can. "I was _scared_ when I heard you broke down in gym class."

I carefully pried myself out of her continuing embrace. "Yeah, well… sorry," I mumbled in reply. "I didn't plan on a trip to the hospital, you know?"

Before I had fully entangled myself from Mom, I found myself in another hug. "I know, honey, but still." It was her who let me go this time, but she held me at arm's distance, perfect for scrutinizing me. "How are you feeling?"

_Annoyed and exasperated_, I thought, but I could hardly tell her _that_. She'd turn from motherly to irritated faster than I could say my name. "I'm okay, Mom. They examined me thoroughly this morning and cleared me."

She spent another moment with scrutinizing me from top to toe before sighing. "Take it easy though, please."

"Of course, Mom."

We then ate lunch and I told her in detail about how well math and biology finals went, hoping to distract her from her worry over me. It worked; Mom was glad to hear such good news, and we talked a bit about school in general before she started telling some stories from her time at school. Our pleasant conversation was interrupted when Freda announced her presence.

Mom quickly stood up and walked into the living room where my sister had been napping to nurse her. Since we had been done with lunch, I cleared the table before joining Mom and Freda. Mom sat on the couch, facing the door, and sent me a smile when noticing me. "She's still greedy, isn't she?" I asked when seeing how excitedly Freda nursed.

Mom chuckled. "Just like you when you were little," she said with an affectionate tone. I grimaced playfully and sat down next to her.

That was when Freda noticed me. She stopped eating, stared at me for a moment, then blinked owlishly twice before suddenly letting out a loud wail. I pulled a funny face, knowing that it usually made her laugh, but not today. Instead of calming down again, she cried only harder. Not even reaching out to tickle her helped. Freda swatted at my advancing hand – of course without hitting me, but the intention was clear.

Mom sighed and stood. Walking around the living room, she lightly bounced Freda up and down in the hope of hushing her. To no avail. My sister just continued crying at the top of her lungs, and both Mom and I had no idea why – she was obviously distressed about something and it concerned me. We therefore tried me being in another room than her and Mom, but that didn't have any positive results either.

Eventually, Mom decided to go for a walk with Freda. "Maybe the fresh air will help," she said hopefully. I ignored the unspoken 'without you anywhere in the vicinity.'

"Maybe I should leave. I could use a walk myself," I suggested.

"Oh, no, you don't," Mom shot back. "You just got released from hospital. You're staying at home."

Knowing it was the wrong moment to argue with her, I relented.

Once both were gone, I went to get my school notes. I could very well use this involuntary free afternoon for some more revisions. Since it was a beautiful day outside, I chose to sit on the porch to cram world history. After all, a little fresh air was better than none.

Quite a while later, just when I turned a page, I heard someone knock on the door. My head perked up and I listened closely while glancing through the open kitchen door toward the entrance hall. There was a shadow out there. If it were Mom returning, she'd let herself in, so it must be a visitor. Before I could get up, though, the visitor knocked again – or rather violently rapped against the door. If he or she continued like that, the door would break through so I hurried inside to stop the assault.

Before I got there, I heard someone call, "Chloe? I know you're at home, so open please. It's urgent."

The voice was muffled, but still somewhat familiar. I couldn't quite place it though. When I opened the door, however, I found myself face to face with Jack. He looked surprised for a moment, but that quickly turned into relief and then became urgency.

He grabbed my wrist. "Glad to see you. Come on, we have to hurry." He tugged on my arm and made to turn around to leave again.

I shook him off, absent-mindedly rubbing my wrist while asking, "What's the matter? Where's the fire?"

He looked at me oddly with his eyes appearing sort of dazed, but when he refocused them on mine, he said, "No fire, but you need to help. There's no time for explanations." He turned around once more, ready to bolt back to the car – which I noticed was Johnston's. I didn't see the mechanic though.

"All right, I get it. But what happened that you're making such a rush?" I grabbed the keys, ignoring the fact that I was supposed to stay at home and take things easy.

Jack was already at the driver's side door. "I'll explain on the way. Come on, hurry!"

Rolling my eyes at him, I locked the door and then got into the car which already idled. As soon as my door fell shut, he drove off; I didn't yet have time to grab the seatbelt and buckle me in. And Jack drove like a maniac, way too fast for the speed limit in town.

"So, now, what happened? I'm here, so we can talk." When I looked at him, he seemed distant but at the same time glad. I knew that expression. Frowning, I sent him a glare. "You promised you would tell me, Jack," I reminded him.

His expression turned slightly sheepish. "Well… what do you know about the Droid of Death?"

I frowned. "It's some sort of… odd creature. Totally metallic. With red eyes. It was looking for someone."

"Amazing that you remember it," Jack said. "I always thought that… one didn't remember much from early childhood, and you were just a small… baby back then."

Jack was more than confusing. What did that Droid of Death have to do with his urgency? "We talked about it in class."

"Oh." He chuckled mirthlessly, the joke lost on me.

Suddenly, I realized I hadn't left a note for Mom. _Well, too late now_, I thought. "Yeah," I instead said, hoping to prompt Jack to spill the reason for abducting me. "Pretty nasty looking, that Droid."

He started laughing loudly; the entire car's frame shook. And even after he calmed down enough again to concentrate on the road, he continued grinning like a maniac. "So, I take it that your Grandpa has been an astrophysicist?"

Way to change the topic. "What does that have to do with the Droid of Death?"

"Getting there. But tell me, I'm right, right?"

Rolling my eyes again and mentally counting to three, I said, "Yes, you're right." Sometimes I wondered how Colonel Lennox could work with a man like Jack; he could be so difficult.

He grinned. "And he discovered hints that extra-terrestrial life was possible." He glanced at me.

"Yes, but…"

"Getting there, hold your breath." I hoped he didn't mean it literally, because were I to wait for Jack to piece the puzzle together, I would have suffocated. "He found hints," he continued then, "but no evidence, right?"

"… Right."

"Do you believe in… aliens?"

This was getting frustrating. "Jack, will you now tell me what this is all about or not? I'm getting sick of your riddles."

"Just answer the question."

Sighing, I slowly replied, "I don't know."

"What's there not to know?" he inquired with a pointed side-glance.

"Look onto the road!" I scolded and thankfully, he did as asked, snapping his eyes back front. In the meantime, I mulled his question over. Did I believe in aliens? Anyone knew that Roswell and Area 51 were just speculations, and that most UFO sightings have been identified as fakes. But there were still the great mysteries, like the figures carved into a plateau in Peru, the infamous Nazca lines. And what about this Droid of Death? It's difficult to fake that – or is it? I never asked Dad, I realized, once I'd seen the footage. And I shouldn't forget Grandpa's discoveries. Like I had told Jack, he never found evidence that his and his team's theories were right, but… what if they were? What if we really were not the only sentient species alive in the incredible width of space? "I… I'm not sure," I eventually allowed. "Many things point to the conclusion that alien life is possible, but… there are so many speculations and conspiracy theories, I don't know what to believe."

"What does your heart tell you?" he asked surprisingly softly.

I glared at him. "My heart tells me that you're hiding something, Jack. Spit it out. Now."

"Or what?" he asked, amused.

"Or I'm getting out of the car."

He chuckled. "No, you don't." And then the latch snapped down, locking me in.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, pulling at the latch, in vain. It didn't go lose.

"See, the Droid of Death was an alien that attacked Earth some thirteen years ago," Jack told and I stopped jerking on the door, listening to him. "He and his companions wanted something a human had, and they were ready to extinguish all mankind if this boy didn't give them what they wanted. They are evil."

"Guessed as much from the vid I've seen," I agreed.

"But the boy wasn't on his own. He was protected. But he was braver than anyone thought and not only found something very valuable, but also resparked one of the protectors that had already died."

I shook my head; rather than clearing things up, Jack created more and more riddles. "Wait, what? Someone who was dead came back?" I asked one of the many questions swirling through my mind.

"Yep. And that someone then killed the Droid."

I exhaled loudly, releasing the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "You gonna now tell me that a robot fought against another robot?" Figments of last night's dream flashed up, but I shoved them away.

"Not robots," he said, sounding insulted. "Sentient beings, fighting to protect Earth against the bad guys of their species."

I was ready to strangle Jack and shake him until he told me what he wanted to tell in clear words. "Okay, stop. I can't follow you anymore. Stop talking in riddles."

He looked chagrined. "No riddles today, Chloe."

"Then make it clear what you mean," I snapped at him.

He didn't speak for a moment and I then saw why. We had reached the entrance to the base. Jack flashed a card and the guard gave me a curious look, but then he waved us through. Jack turned left after the door and drove by various buildings until we reached a larger free area. Looking ahead, I thought that the large hangar in front of us was our goal. But rather than speeding up, Jack slowed until he stopped the car. The motor still idled, but Jack didn't continue, looking at me instead.

"Your grandfather has been right. Humans are not the only species out there. The Droid and his companions are part of a species much older than yours. This species got separated into two factions, fighting against each other."

My eyes widened. Grandpa had been right? But…

"They fight for dominion," Jack continued. "The bad guys want the power to create and sustain life, but for sinister reasons, thus leaving their brothers and sisters – the good guys – to die a slow death."

I knew Jack could be quite the story teller and the adventurous tale he created sounded very much like sci-fi come alive. "How would you know?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes at him.

He wasn't fathomed. "What you need to know, Chloe, is that the bad… robots" – he grimaced like the word was a slap to his face – "aren't the only ones on this planet. There are some of the good guys, too." He looked at the hangar. "And they protect humanity."

Slowly, I got the feeling that Jack's tale wasn't really just a story but more. "So you mean to say that… that in this hangar are… are a couple of… of Droids?" I half-whispered, half-squeaked, the dream of last night flashing before my eyes once again. "Only that they're the good ones?" He chuckled at my wording, but otherwise nodded. My jaw dropped and I stared through the windshield. Needing confirmation, I questioned, "How do you know they're the… good guys?"

"Because the humans on this base are their friends. They've been fighting together for several years now. And in the last battle, several got damaged pretty badly. You're here because they need your help."

I had opened my mouth for a retort already, but upon his last words, sank back into my seat, baffled. "I… I shall repair a… a robot? An alien robot? A living and breathing robot?" Jack nodded solemnly. My jaw dropped once again. "Oh," was all I could say to that after a while.

We sat in the car for a few moments in silence, Jack letting me mull things over. Why me? Why did Jack think I could repair a robot? Didn't they have specialists for such cases? I only knew mechanics as far as our physics teacher had taught us.

Eventually, Jack continued toward the hangar. In front of it, he stopped and shut off the engine. The latch loosened and I could open the door to get out. Jack mirrored my action and was at my side in an instant.

"So, you going to do it?"

Looking up at him, I didn't know what to say. "Why me?" I finally croaked out the one question to which everything got down, feeling slightly sick. I thought my legs were shaking. This was Jack, the Dreamer, asking me to screw on an alien robot, a sentient being to add?

"Because I've seen you repair engines." I frowned, trying to remember when Jack had been present when I repaired our car, but I could only think of Johnston having been there with me. "You have a steady hand and a clear head, so you're a good choice."

"When –" I began, but was interrupted when someone shouted, "What the slag? Jack! Where have you b—?" There was a short break, then, "What's the meaning of this?"

I turned and saw Johnston appear in the hangar door. Jack started to walk toward him and I followed. But instead of stopping next to Johnston, Jack walked past and entered a large corridor. My head dipped back when I looked up and around, taking in the grandeur of the place.

"Jack, will you please explain?" Johnston said, stalking us and finally taking Jack's arm, holding him back.

He shook the mechanic off. "No time. Chloe needs to help us first."

Johnston's eyes narrowed angrily. "And what do you think a fourteen year old girl can accomplish that none of us could? She's still a kid, for Pit's sake!"

I didn't leave it up to Jack to defend me. Jutting out my chin with pride, I retorted, "Good enough to repair your car but not good enough to do whatever Jack needs my help with?"

The mechanic swiveled around, glowering down at me. The fury in his eyes was hard to stand up to, but I managed and did not avert my eyes. He was the one who finally had to look away.

Sighing in defeat, he said to Jack, "Fine. But it's your aft they will have later."

"As long as she onlines him again, I don't care."

Leaving a flustered Johnston behind, Jack grabbed my arm and literally dragged me through an over-dimensional door toward something that looked like a monstrous table. A ladder that looked suspiciously like a gangway used for planes led upward and we climbed it quickly. To my surprise, Johnston followed. Once on the platform, I saw the head and shoulders of a robot lie in front of us. My eyes widened and I froze; it looked like the metallic giant that had fallen onto the beach in front of me and Louisa in my dream. It didn't move.

_Just a dream? _I thought, feeling like I started to hyperventilate.

"He's harmless," Johnston explained while holding out something that looked like a jumpsuit. Were we going to skydive? Noticing my confused expression but interpreting it wrongly, he said, "That's protective gear. It's to protect our skin from the circuits and gears. So…" He impatiently waved the jumpsuit in front of me.

With the mechanic's help, I quickly got in, and he then strapped some sort of belt with lots of tool bags around my hip. "There you go." He stepped aside, then pointed. "That's a utility belt with all kinds of useful tools you'll need. And here are gloves. You will want to wear them too." While I put them on, he continued, "Now, you need to sort of crawl into his chest and down below the chamber. There's a casing component that got loose and he can't function without it. We are not a hundred percent certain if it's still where it's supposed to be or wandered off, but even if it did move, it couldn't have gone far. You'll also easily find the place where it should be attached to. Your job is to drag it back and fasten it. Use this." He showed me a screw, I thought – at least it looked similar to the screws I knew. "They're in that pocket." He pointed at my utility belt.

My mind whirled with questions. Chamber? Part? What the hell was Johnston talking about? And did he really say 'function'? So this robot was really alive? I had _not _been dreaming about metallic giants? What did the military do on this base?

Another man whose nametag read 'J. Quinn' hopped down from the robot where he had apparently been working on its chest. "I took off all unnecessary plates that would hinder you, but you need to be careful with the neural lines," he said. _Neural lines?_ I wondered, but didn't have time to pursue that thought when Mr. Quinn handed me a print out that looked very technical. At first I couldn't make any sense of what was drawn there, then I saw what they meant. Mr. Quinn pointed to a sort of globe. "That's the spark chamber. Under any circumstance, don't touch it, even with gloves on, understood?"

I nodded, no longer trying to make sense out of it all. I just needed to repair it, then I would be gone again. I hoped…

And then – before I could ask any questions, even before they asked if I had any questions! – they helped me climb up onto the robot and into the chassis.

Taking a deep breath, I sort of dived into the 'hole' Mr. Quinn had created, trying to not strangle myself with the many wires and tubes that hung around like spider nets. I hadn't been entirely sure so far, but apparently, I actually suffered from claustrophobia. While the robot looked like a giant, it wasn't really when seeing it from this close. Especially not when you had to crawl into the chassis to fasten screws that looked like some sort of _very_ deformed water propeller. There were tubes and gears everywhere, cog wheels, pinions and other stuff I'd never even seen before and couldn't name, even when asked under durance. It was difficult to find a way through and stay clear of the spark chamber that sort of loomed over everything. I also noticed that the deeper I got in, the harder it was to breathe. Parts pressed into me from all sides, robbing me of space to move. I tried to calm down and not panic. The dim light wasn't exactly helping my case; the light blue hum from the spark chamber couldn't fully illuminate the inside. How was I supposed to see what I was searching?

But then I noticed something that looked kind of odd, the way it was wrenched into the surrounding tubing and wires. Reaching out – as I couldn't crawl any further in, no matter how hard I pushed and wriggled – I tugged on the part and it came lose. But the tubing as well. Was that supposed to happen?

"How does it go?" I heard Johnston ask from above. His voice sounded hollow, and I felt like I was the little girl in Disney's _The Rescuers_, crawling into the diamonds cave while Madame Medusa waited outside, only I was taller and the cave much smaller.

"Eh… I think I found it," I shouted, "but when I loosened it, a tubing broke apart as well. Both halves are still connected with each other, but it doesn't look… healthy."

There was some noise, then a voice from above gruffly ordered, "Don't move for a second and don't touch the tubing." The voice sounded like it belonged to Aaron Hyde, but it was different to when I had heard it last. Or maybe it was just me imagining it; after all, I was stuck in the cavity of a giant robot. Following the advice, I didn't even breathe for several moments until he declared, "Leave that alone for the time being. It's nothing the internal repairs can't handle themselves. Just put the casing back where it belongs."

"Okay," I mumbled slowly, close to freaking out. Internal repairs? So the robot could even repair itself from the inside? And I was helping to bring it back online? I fought the growing panic of being squished when the robot woke up while I was still stuck in its chest, but tried to pull myself together and continued looking around for the holes that indicated where I needed to affix the metal part. And to my surprise, I even found them.

Since I already had the part in hand, I now only needed to affix it and crawl back out. But first, I needed to reach the screws that were in the utility belt. Wriggling around quite a lot to get my free hand up and into a pocket of the belt, I realized I was never going to make it out on my own. I would need Mr. Quinn and Johnston to pull me out by my feet. But business first.

Grunting and panting with the effort to get my hand back down and not lose any of the screws in the wild array of wires and tubes, I set to work. One after the other, I put the screws into the holes and tightened them. Only the last screw, farthest away from where I was stuck, didn't want to stay and kept rolling away before I could properly tighten it. Luckily, I always caught it before it vanished in the chassis. But I would have to crawl in further to finish my job. Only, I couldn't move.

"Anyone there?" I called stupidly, but nothing else came to my mind.

"We're here. You done?" Johnston called back.

I sagged against some hardware. "No. I can't tighten the last screw; it's too far away and I am unable to reach it. It keeps rolling away. But I can't move anymore to crawl in any further."

There was a moment of silence in which I thought they'd forgotten about me, then Mr. Quinn said, "All right. We'll push you in a bit further. Let us know once you're deep enough."

"Okay." And then they were already putting pressure on my feet and I slid slowly forward. Quickly ducking my head to not get caught in a wire, I squinted toward the hole and when I could easily reach it, I shouted, "Stop!" The pushing quit.

I swiftly put the missing screw in place, tightened it down, then double-checked that all screws were holding the casing properly. Once that was done, I let out a breath of relief – noticing that I actually had trouble breathing. Was it just my impression or had it become tighter in here?

Trying to ignore the panic, I shouted, "I'm done. You can pull me out."

But rather than hands grabbing my feet, Mr. Hyde's voice said, "Not quite yet. You need to boot the processor up."

"What?" I squeaked.

"The casing you affixed is part of the core processor that needs to be powered up to online our friend. The part onto which you fastened the casing should sport some pressure point. It's similar to the reserve boot you find on cells and technical equipment like that."

My mind reeled. "I can hardly see a thing here. How am I supposed to find that reserve boot?"

There was some talk above me which I didn't understand, then some more noise before Mr. Hyde answered, "Close your eyes for a moment. I'm giving you light but you need to adjust to the brightness first."

Shutting my eyes tightly, I waited. And the light came. It was really bright, intense to a level that hurt even through closed lids. However, it slowly dimmed to a point where it was bearable. So I squinted carefully before opening my eyes fully. And truly, I could finally see my surroundings sharp and clearly. The reserve boot practically jumped into my face. The problem now, though, was how to press it.

Wriggling around again to feel for a tool thin enough to fit the reserve boot, I nearly squished my hand in-between a tube and some hardware. Cursing under my breath, I still – somehow – managed to not only bring up the tool (didn't know what it was; I had never before seen such a thing) but also to press the reserve boot. For a moment, nothing happened, then beneath me, the processor flared to life, light coming on everywhere. There was a slosh and something green-like leaked through the broken tubing.

"Pull her out, quickly," Mr. Hyde's voice ordered, and immediately, hands grabbed my ankles and pulled hard. Halfway through, I had to shout at them to stop, freeing my arm that had gotten caught in a net of wires, but eventually, I was out again and able to breathe freely. I sat on the still open chassis of the robot which hummed, the sound getting louder and louder. The soft blue light in the spark chamber grew stronger and there was some groaning.

"We better get down," Mr. Quinn said, helping me up and off the robot. It was a close call because as soon as we were on the platform, the robot began to move. With horror I realized it wanted to sit up.

"_Slag_!" someone grumbled viciously and the voice sounded like Mr. Hatchett's, only I had never before heard him curse that violently.

Johnston grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the ladder. "Let's get out of here. You shouldn't even be here."

When reaching firm ground again, we found ourselves face to face with Colonel Lennox. A furious Colonel Lennox. "Then why is she?" he inquired, his tone authoritative. He nodded toward me, but fixed Johnston and Mr. Quinn with a glare that let me recoil. He ignored me for now and I wasn't sure whether or not to be happy about it. Annabelle had told me that one shouldn't mess with an angry Colonel Lennox; the outcome was never pretty. So I _should_ be happy that his fury was not directed at me for the moment, but I couldn't, not really.

Jack then joined us and with a smile on his face explained, "She helped us with Ratch."

Colonel Lennox rounded on him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "We have six people working on him," he snarled at Jack who was the nonchalance in person, standing at ease.

"I know, 'Hide said as much, but no one could bring him back online, could they? Chloe here can – and she did." He looked at me, his hand gesturing up to the platform, though. Colonel Lennox glanced up and his eyes then widened. When he looked at Jack again, the latter grinned. "Told you she could." He sounded smug.

"But she's a kid, for Pit's sake. And one without clearance on top of that. What were you thinking?" Colonel Lennox shouted.

"He apparently wasn't," someone growled and I saw Aaron Hyde striding toward us like a lion marching toward its prey.

"Look, Will, 'Hide," Jack began, ignoring the glare his co-worker sent him, "Chloe has a steady hand and she's small enough to crawl into Ratch's chassis to put him back together. You've seen how Quinn and the rest of the team didn't manage to do that. None could reach down that far." He nodded toward the two mechanics. "They can verify what Chloe did."

The noise behind and above us grew louder, the stream of curses and grumbles more pronounced. Whatever was happening, we shouldn't stand here and discuss things when a robot was about to step on us any moment now. I hopped from one foot to the other; on the one hand, I was curious and wanted to see what was happening, but I didn't dare. If last night had been real and not just a dream, I had seen enough.

"And you think to confide in a fourteen year old girl? Jack!" Colonel Lennox exclaimed exasperated, throwing his hands in the air. "She's not even trained."

"She repaired several engines, including this one." He thumped over his shoulder, pointing through the open door and at the car parking just outside the hangar, still looking smug and grinning like the cat that ate the canary cream.

Colonel Lennox stopped dead. "Wait a second. She repaired y— this engine?" His eyes widening, he glanced at me speculatively, then back at Jack. "What happened?" he demanded.

Jack looked confused; I thought he didn't get what the colonel was referring to. So I jumped in, if only to end this discussion and get us out of harm's reach. "There's been a storm and the power lines on the street in front of our house cut, falling down and onto Johnston's car. Johnston was still asleep so I took care of the line, then went to save the electronic circuits that got pretty badly banged up by the electricity."

"And when Johnston was up and joined her, she had already finished. Johnston was impressed," Jack added.

Colonel Lennox looked at the mechanic for his statement. "I remember that day," Johnston allowed. "She really did a great job."

"Yep," Jack said proudly. "And now she fixed Ratchet too."

That didn't reassure Colonel Lennox though. Ignoring the last statement of Jack, he ranted, "She did what? And you never cared to file a report of that? Does Ratchet even know?"

Jack looked chagrined. "I may have failed to dump that info on him."

Colonel Lennox swiveled around to Johnston who took a step back, holding his hands up in defense. "Jack said he would take care of everything and I shouldn't worry. I didn't do anything anyway. Chloe was the one who brought the engine back to life."

"Should I know what?" a voice suddenly asked behind us and everyone turned to look. I too risked a glance now and like I had thought, the robot had gotten up. It stood behind us, the… hands on the… hips, looking menacingly down on us.

I started screaming.


	21. Disclosure I

**Author's Note:** Apologies for that untimely update. My excuse: the chapter had been completed months ago, but then the last chapters took a slightly different direction than originally planned, so chapter 20 no longer fit and therefore had to be rewritten. And that took longer than expected. But better late than never, right? That's also the reason why I haven't replied to the last reviews yet. That'll change again.

I'll apologize in advance for any missing space characters. Either my new computer or my word program don't like them so they ate them. I hope I caught all the missing ones, but one never knows. Let me know if you catch any missing space characters please.

To cut a long story short: have fun reading! :)

* * *

><p>– chapter twenty –<p>

**Disclosure (1)**

The robot took a step toward me and leaned forward, reaching out. It may have intended to be consoling; I wouldn't know.

I quickly staggered back in fear but didn't get far. I bumped against something – or someone, I couldn't care less. I'd never been more afraid than right now, not even when kidnapped. Panic seeped through me, clenching my heart in a tight grip. _It was cold. It was dark. But the shadows were moving. Sometimes, they shrank in size. But often they grew. They were coming closer. And I could see the gleaming red eyes looking menacingly down on me. _I screamed again, both at the unbidden memory as well as the present.

Strong hands suddenly grabbed my upper arms and quickly hurled me out of the room. The large door shut behind us with a thunderous clang. But even with a wall now between me and the robot I couldn't calm down. It was still on the loose. It could attack us any time. It would kill us.

The hands on my upper arms tightened their grip before shaking me. "Chloe, snap out of it!" the voice of Colonel Lennox said loudly over my panic-induced hysteria.

Tears began running down my face and I started to hiccup. I was shivering and tried to wrap my arms around me for warmth, but the hands wouldn't let me. At first. However, the colonel quickly realized what I intended. But instead of simply letting go of me, he wrapped me in a tight hug. "Shhhh, Chloe, it's okay," he said, one hand gently cupping the back of my head, burying my face against his chest. "There's nothing to be afraid of. He's not going to hurt you. In fact, _no one_ will harm you. You have my word." His other hand soothingly stroked my back.

We stood like that for a long time; it felt like eternity. The colonel's embrace and his continued reassurances gave me the illusion of a cocoon protecting me from anything dangerous so that I could slowly calm down again. The voice in the back of my head insisted I be careful though. There was only a wall between the robot and me after all. Even with the colonel at my side I wasn't safe. But I decided to ignore the voice for now. I currently _felt_ safe – that was all that mattered.

When my heartbeat had slowed down to a regular pace and the hiccup turned to sniffling, Colonel Lennox eased the embrace until I could move freely enough to look up at him. "Better?" he asked softly.

I gulped down the lump in my throat. "A little," I allowed quietly.

He gave me a smile and fully let go of me.

That was the wrong thing to do; it was too early. The ground shifted under my feet and I swayed, my knees shaking. Colonel Lennox quickly grabbed my arms before I could keel over and then gently helped me sit down on the floor. "Someone bring a bag in case she throws up," he ordered. I heard hasty footsteps retreat, but they returned a moment later. The bag rustled when the colonel crouched down to hand it over. "You all right?"

The world was still spinning. In addition, my head hurt so I pressed my palms against my temples while hiding my face between my knees which I pulled up.

"Chloe?" Colonel Lennox inquired, sounding worried.

I carefully glanced up and noticed that we were watched by a few of the colonel's co-workers. "I think so," I mumbled, not taking the bag. I wouldn't throw up, not in front of the men looking at me intently.

For a moment, no one spoke, then Aaron Hyde asked surprisingly gently, "And you really repaired the engine all on yourself? Didn't get zapped?" I noticed him throwing a long glance at Colonel Lennox.

It took a second for me to remember what we had been talking about before I panicked. Once I did, I slowly shook my head. "Yes, I did, and no. I took care of not getting shot by electricity."

Mr. Hyde gave me a quick look over, then he and Jack stared at each other, each of their eyes distant. As soon as Mr. Hyde refocused, he addressed Colonel Lennox. "If Firebrand can know, why can't this youngling? The girls are friends. From what Jack has shown me she really is capable, and we've seen her bring Ratchet back online."

I frowned in confusion. Who was Firebrand? And shown? When had Jack shown Mr. Hyde anything?

Colonel Lennox frowned. "Giving her clearance when she should never have known to begin with? Jack has been ignoring the explicit rules, and I'm sure as soon as Prime and Prowl know, they'll deal with him."

Mr. Hyde pressed, "We should do it, Will. Chloe saved Arcee and the twins. That has to be taken into consideration."

"But it's not my place to decide that." Colonel Lennox looked at me for a long time, pensive, then, with a sigh, he turned toward the woman standing aside. "Tomaczech, let the Roberts's know that Chloe is at the base and that she will be brought home in a bit."

"Yes, sir!"

Before she could sprint off, however, Mr. Hyde said, "That's not necessary. I took the liberty and called them while Chloe… calmed down."

"Okay…" the colonel allowed, seeming a little bit baffled. He caught himself quickly again and firmly added in Mr. Hyde's direction, "You should probably notify Prime and Prowl too."

"They already know," Mr. Hyde stated gruffly with a pointed side-glance to Jack who just shrugged.

The colonel turned toward me again. "All right, Chloe, listen carefully now. Jack's behavior did not only break several rules of this base but got you in great danger. However, he and Hyde are right. You _did_ help us save three lives. You have my thanks – _all_ our thanks."

Wondering what I repairing a robot had to do with saving three lives, I looked around the assembled people, my gaze eventually coming to rest on the huge door. My mind drifted off. Was the robot still on the loose? And why was everyone so calm about it?

Colonel Lennox caught my attention again. "However, everything you've seen is top secret and only allowed to those with clearance. If Prime agrees, I will try to get it for you once the more pressing mess has been dealt with, but I can't promise you anything. However, you will _have_ to sign an NDA."

My eyes widened. Did he really just announce that I would have to sign away my life in a non-disclosure agreement? Just because I repaired a robot that could speak? What the hell was going on here?

To everyone's surprise, Mom suddenly burst through a door on the opposite side of the corridor. When she saw me, her features momentarily softened in obvious relief before showing displeasure. "Chloe, what are you doing here?" she asked sternly, taking a step forward. She halted again when she noticed by whom I was surrounded. Hesitating, she asked, "What's going on?" Her eyes then fell on Jack. Her expression hardened even more, and I saw the soldier in her come through. She swiftly walked up to me and rounded on Jack. "What did you do?"

I wondered how Mom could have known Jack had brought me here, but maybe it was typical for him to be at fault when something unpleasant happened. Jack had the decency to at least look a little bit bashful.

Colonel Lennox held up a hand. "We can discuss that later, Private. It's crucial now that Chloe knows that she has to never tell anyone of what she learned today – or will still learn."

Mom frowned. "Why are you standing in the corridor then?" she asked, then hastily added a "Sir."

"We are waiting for Prime." He turned back to me. "Swear that you'll never utter even the smallest sound."

Mr. Hyde crossed his arms and huffed. "That's ridiculous, Will. Firebrand didn't need to swear."

"Chloe?" Colonel Lennox pressed, ignoring Mr. Hyde.

I turned to Mom, asking for her help with my eyes. She only shrugged, though, giving me a reassuring smile and leaving me to make my own decision. No help from her side.

Not knowing what I had gotten myself into but very much wanting to make sense of all the riddles, I nodded. "I swear that I'll take everything to my grave. My lips are sealed." And like having seen in cartoons, I made as if I were zipping up my mouth and then threw the key over my shoulder.

Colonel Lennox frowned, then sighed. "All right. Can't be helped anymore anyway."

The sound of a vehicle approaching reached our ears and we all turned toward the door leading outside. It opened automatically and revealed a semi heading for us. I thought the truck would stop outside the hangar, but it drove up close before coming to a halt inside the corridor. Dad got out, as did the driver, a man around Dad's age. Mr. Prime. So far I had gotten the impression of him always having a level temperament, but the expression he now wore was one of hardly contained anger. My eyes wandered over to Dad. He faltered in his steps for a moment when seeing the assembled people, then quickly saluted to Colonel Lennox.

"At ease, Lieutenant."

"Sir. May I inquire what the matter is about?"

"I would like to know the same," Mr. Prime said, glaring at Jack and Mr. Hyde.

I bit my lip while Colonel Lennox briefly explained the situation. At the end, Dad gave me a long glance and sighed. "Well, happened sooner than we expected I guess." Colonel Lennox grunted what seemed to be an agreement, albeit an unhappy one.

All eyes now turned toward Mr. Prime. He looked pensive, mulling things over for a long time in which no one dared to speak. His anger seemed to have lessened considerably, though not yet fully gone. Eventually, he slowly said, "Usually, we would clear it with the JCS first, but because she already saw Ratchet…" After giving me a calculative look, he turned toward the colonel. "We should do proper introductions."

Colonel Lennox raised both his eyebrows. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"I am." Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mom and Dad exchange a look, but I kept my gaze on Mr. Prime.

However, it was Colonel Lennox who spoke again. "In that case… Prime, before we introduce anyone to her, I suggest she signs the NDA and gets some… explanations." He glanced in my direction before adding, "Firebrand's suggestion, to _ease_ people into it."

Mr. Prime pondered that for a moment. "Agreed. Especially after how she reacted so far, it would be wise to proceed cautiously." He paused for a moment before adding, "I will speak to the JCS while Chloe signs the NDA."

Colonel Lennox nodded and ushered me and my parents over to another part of the hangar. Here, everything was normal-sized. Guiding us to an empty room that looked suitable for conferences, he asked us to sit down and wait while he retrieved a non-disclosure agreement.

When he was gone, I sank into a chair, lounging, but the happenings of the last twenty-four hours kept coming back to my mind and I grew dizzy again. Sitting up straight, I then bent down and put my head between my knees. Dad was at my side instantly.

"You're still really pale, sweetheart. Do you want anything, water, food…?" he asked, crouching down before me. I didn't see Mom, but knew she was close by.

I softly shook my head and mumbled, "Don't worry, I'm okay… I think. Just… a bit dizzy. This is so much to take in…"

Mom grabbed a chair and sat down next to me while Dad plopped down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged. "It really is. I remember when I first saw an Autobot from up close."

Letting go of my head, I sat up a bit and looked at him. "Autobot?"

Mom put a hand on my shoulder before moving it over my back in soothing circles. "Let's start at the beginning, James," she said. "Chloe's confused enough as it is."

Dad nodded. "All right…" Toward me, he then said, "Several years ago, aliens landed on Earth, searching for an object of great power to their race. But they were not the only ones. Another group of the same species followed, and it came to a confrontation."

I shook my head. "Dad, that's… not really explaining anything."

"Okay," he said with a little sigh, "let's try another approach: Alien life exists. One of the possibly billions of life forms out there come from the planet Cybertron. The Cybertronians are a very old species. Their race has divided into two factions who are at war against each other."

I remembered what Jack had told me. "They're fighting for dominion, right?"

"Yes and no." We looked up to Colonel Lennox returning. He closed the door, grabbed a chair and joined us at the table. Dad got off the ground and sat down properly as well. There was a moment of tense silence, then Colonel Lennox said, "Before we answer any more questions, I must ask you to sign this." He handed me a piece of paper. On top was written 'Non-Disclosure Agreement.' When I looked back at the colonel, he said, "Take your time with reading this, then please sign it. As you're not yet of age, your legal guardians –" he pointed at Mom and Dad "– will have to sign as well."

At first I read the NDA in quiet. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but I believed myself to understand quite a lot of difficult texts, may they be scientific or prose. But I didn't even understand half of what was written on this one piece of paper. I needed help in translating the stuff into common English.

Both Colonel Lennox and my parents proved to be very patient, answering all my questions until I fully understood everything. After scribbling down my name at the bottom of the page, I handed it over to first Mom then Dad who gave the agreement back to Colonel Lennox.

Putting the NDA away and then leaning back in his chair, the colonel said, "So, I guess you're having a few questions."

I snorted. "Understatement of the year."

He smiled. "I take it your parents already told you that there are aliens among us."

Nodding, I summarized, "An old species that's divided into two factions."

"Yes. The factions' names are Decepticons and Autobots. The former do fight for dominion, to answer your question of earlier. They want to rule as they please. The Autobots, however, fight for freedom. As they say, freedom is the right of every sentient species."

"Okay… And where does the robot in the… uh, other room count in?"

"Med bay," Mom corrected me.

"He's an Autobot. He's on our side," the colonel answered.

I frowned. "Didn't look freedom-loving to me," I mumbled. Everyone started chuckling.

"His name is Ratchet," the colonel said, his eyes sparkling with humor. "Admittedly, he has quite a temper, but he does love peace."

"Especially from the twins," Mom mumbled.

The colonel had heard her, tipping his head in her direction in acknowledgement. Then he continued, "And he's brilliant in what he does. The Autobots wouldn't exchange him for anything."

Ratchet. I silently repeated the name several times until I remembered where I had heard it before. "Mr. Hatchett's nickname is Ratchet."

Dad nodded. "The one and the same. Only Mr. Hatchett doesn't really exist."

"Huh?" He had seemed pretty real to me.

"Ron Hatchett is his holoform's name, Chloe," the colonel explained. "The real Ratchet is a twenty foot tall robot, the one you've repaired. The holoform you've got to know as Mr. Hatchett is just an extension of Ratchet."

That was getting more and more confusing, just like with Jack's 'explanation.' "Okay, back up. To get things straight: There are aliens on our planet. They're from one race, but two different factions. The Decepticons are presumably the bad guys, and the good guys are the Autobots."

The colonel nodded. "Correct."

"And the Autobots can make human-looking holograms."

"Holoform," the colonel corrected.

On my blank look, Dad explained, "Just another word for hologram."

Colonel Lennox continued, "To my knowledge, every Cybertronian can make holoforms, but I doubt the Decepticons even bother with them."

"Okay…" I nodded pensively, not really caring about too much details right now. Major points first. "So… why 'Autobots'? What kind of a name is that anyway?"

They chuckled again. "It's short for Autonomous Robotic Organism," Mom explained after a moment. "But that's just what Optimus says. Personally, I think the name has more to do with the fact that their alt-forms are automobiles."

Sighing in frustration that they kept throwing unfamiliar terms in my direction, I asked her, "Alt-forms?"

Dad put a hand over mine and I looked toward him. "The general term for the Cybertronians is Transformers. They can transform themselves from robot to vehicle. The latter is called alt-form. It serves them well to hide in plain view. If you didn't know it was an alien, you'd perceive it as a normal car."

I stared at Dad. If what he said was true, the possibilities were endless. Had I already met one of them and not known their true nature? Eventually, I stammered, "But… how… I mean…" unable to voice what I wanted to say.

Misinterpreting my stammer, Colonel Lennox added, "No one really knows how they do it, but I've seen many who wanted to learn the secret. However, it'll remain a secret. They don't share their technology with us."

Latching onto that for now, I asked, "Why not? Didn't you say they were our friends?"

Dad nodded. "They are, but in regards to technology, they are so much more advanced than we are, and they've seen our wars. They fear that by handing one nation advanced weaponry, the other nations will be easily killed off."

"The Autobots lost their home world due to their war with the Decepticons," Mom continued. "There have been innocents, too, Neutrals, but they've all been killed mercilessly by the 'cons. With them not sharing their technology, they make sure we don't end up like they did, with a destroyed planet and no place to go to."

"I see…" I said, pondering the information. It seemed their story was a very sad one, with no happy end. They had lost everything; this people was literally homeless. And yet they continued fighting. That brought me back to what happened last night. "So the… robots coming out of the ocean were Decepticons?"

The colonel nodded. "And the ones fighting them were the Autobots."

I mentally reviewed my 'memories' of last night. I counted the giants I had seen several times, but always ended up with different numbers. _No wonder_, I thought, _everything had happened so fast it was a miracle I could remember anything at all._ "So how many are there?" I eventually asked.

"Quite a few," the colonel said.

"You've already met most of them at the New Year's Eve party at the Lennox's house," Dad added.

My eyes widened. All those people were actually alien robots?

Before I could ask anything else – like if my friend was really who I always thought she was – the door opened and Mr. Prime entered. "Excuse the interruption," he said.

Colonel Lennox gestured invitingly. "No problem at all. Come in, please."

Mr. Prime nodded gratefully and followed the colonel's invitation. Once he sat in a chair, he said, "I spoke to General Morshower. He's not brimming over with enthusiasm that Jack let the cat out of the bag just like that, without asking anyone beforehand, but at the end of our conversation, he seemed a little calmer about it." He turned to me. "He's sending someone to meet you in person, Chloe. Then the JCS will decide what to do with you."

I gulped, various images of a bunch of black-clad people trying to get rid of me as a witness swarming my head. One was especially sharp: them dropping me into the ocean with hands and feet bound. I shook my head slightly to shove away the wild imaginations. Mr. Prime's blue eyes were still hefted on me, making me nervous.

"That doesn't make sense to me," Dad said, interrupting my train of thought. I glanced at him; he frowned. "They can't change what happened."

Mr. Prime nodded. "I concur. Besides, there is no alternative in Chloe's case."

_My case? What exactly did he mean by _that_?_

"Even if," the colonel jumped in, "the JCS has command over NEST, and they want to be informed about everything. They _can_ make life difficult for us if we're not adhering to their orders and requests."

Silence settled for a moment, but before I could ask 'What now?' Dad inquired, "Was that all?"

The blue eyes turned to him, finally away from me. "More or less. The general asked that she sign the NDA. Everything else is up to me."

"The JCS gave in that easily?" Mom blurted out, sounding surprised.

"I wouldn't call it 'easy,' but after I explained everything to General Morshower, he had no other choice but to consent to my authority in these regards."

When no one spoke for several moments, I asked, "So now… what's going to happen?"

Mr. Prime looked at me again. "Whatever you want."

That was so not answering my question. Seeking help, I looked at Dad. He smiled. "What Prime's trying to say is: if you want to meet them – their real selves – they will introduce themselves to you. If not, they won't force themselves on you."

I glanced back at Mr. Prime. His blue eyes were open, as if promising me honesty if I asked for it. The only question left for now was whether or not I really _wanted_ to know. Last night had been horrific. Seeing the robot I repaired reach out for me was terrible. The memories of my abduction still haunted me in my dreams. But wouldn't it be better if I really knew what was going on? Would it be easier to understand what was happening? Louisa's words came back to me; _blessed ignorance is your best friend right now. You do _not_ want to know._ To a degree, I agreed with her, but another part of me, my curiosity, wanted to make sense of all the riddles. I finally had the chance to completely understand. Did I want to take it?

I looked at everyone present; my eyes swept from my Mom to Dad, over to Colonel Lennox – before coming to rest on Mr. Prime. Gulping down the bitter taste of fear that formed in my mouth, I said, "I want to know."

Mr. Prime's expression was unreadable. His eyes brightened slightly, but that was all the reaction I got at first. However, after a long moment, he smoothly stood. "Then follow me please."

We returned to the corridor, where Mr. Hyde and Jack were still waiting as we had left them. Johnston was gone, but the men were now joined by Mr. Prowl. All three men were looking in our direction. I slowed down until Dad was at my side. I grabbed his arm for support because despite my decision to learn the full truth, I was nervous and scared as hell.

We stopped in front of them. Mr. Prowl hefted his eyes on me, making me shrink back against Dad even more. He then frowned and asked, "Is that really wise, Prime?"

"You know the answer better than any of us," Mr. Prime replied. He then turned to me, smiling. "Before we continue, Chloe, I want to apologize. We never intended to frighten you." I nodded slowly in acknowledgement. Nodding once himself, Mr. Prime then said to Jack, "As you brought her in, you get the honors. But let me make this clear: Right now, she's relatively calm. If she panics again, you'll get to hear from me personally – _after_ Ratchet and her father hauled you to the Pit and back for endangering her health."

Jack flinched at the admonitory tone – as did I, inwardly. "Understood," he mumbled and then gave me a nervous, apologetic smile before vanishing. Like, really vanishing. From one second to the next, he flickered out of existence.

I think my jaw hit the floor in shock while I backed away, taking Dad with me. I heard Mr. Hyde chuckle and looked at him but he only nodded toward Johnston's car that was parked close to the semi. I followed his direction and took another step backward when the car began to unfold and grow until it resembled a somewhat human figure.

A robot. Sergeant Johnston's car was a robot!

"Oh my God," I whispered when I realized that everything I had seen last night was truly real and not just a dream. Hearing that there were aliens on our planet was one story, seeing them first-hand a completely different one! The robot took a step toward me, reaching out. A new wave of hysteria rose, terror running through me, while images flashed by my inner eye; _a large shadow loomed over me, the red eyes glinting in the darkness of the factory. It slowly leaned closer and I could hear its thunderous voice: "So weak…"_

The memory blended with reality, but before I could scream, Dad stepped in front of me, blocking my view on the giant. I started to back away, but he grabbed my wrists before pulling me forward, against him. I struggled, wanting to get away. Had I overrated myself with wanting to know the full truth? "Chloe, calm down please," Dad said. "Wheeljack's not going to hurt you." I continued struggling for another moment before going limp, sagging against him. I was shaking from head to toe – but at least I wasn't crying.

Dad let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around myself. "Shhhh, it's all right, honey. He won't harm you. This is still the Jack you've known for the last months. He just has another form than the one you're used to," he told me soothingly while I fought against the fear. "He's on our side. He won't harm you – especially not after you fixed his zapped electronics."

I snorted, Dad having managed to momentarily take my mind of the panic.

I could literally hear the smile in his next words. "You've ridden in his alt-form. What does that tell you?"

Alt-form… the vehicle he'd been until a moment ago. Slowly freeing myself from Dad's hug, I glanced up at him. "Johnston's car?"

Dad nodded. "Wheeljack, yes."

"That he's as maniac as he drives?"

Behind Dad I could hear the others burst out with laughter while the robot mumbled something I didn't catch. I glanced over Dad's shoulder in time to see him scratch the back of his head like Jack used to do it so often when he was embarrassed or teased by his co-workers. The expression in the metallic face looked kinda sheepish, and I was shocked how human the mimic seemed.

Mr. Prime then caught my eyes, but as soon as he had my attention, he blinked out of existence as well. My breath whooshed out of my lungs. Dad moved us a little around until he stood directly behind me, his arms around me for support. I could now clearly see the semi with which Dad and Mr. Prime had arrived earlier. It rolled a few inches forward before transforming into another robot, this one especially large.

I wanted to back away, but Dad held me tightly to himself the entire time. He radiated calm and imperturbation, making it easier for me to relax again. To my immense surprise, the full-blown panic I expected didn't come. I still felt afraid that I was now surrounded by not one but _two _metallic giants, but I was oddly… fine with it.

The robot then knelt down, its moves designed to not scare me too much. "My designation is Optimus Prime," it said with Mr. Prime's voice once it was on all four. "I am the leader of the Autobots." It— he slowly reached out, holding a single finger in my direction.

I tried backing away again. Did he want to poke me?

"He's offering his hand for you to shake it, Chloe," Dad said gently, as if he had read my thoughts.

My head whipped around at him. "Shake it?" I squeaked.

The robot rumbled; it sounded like chuckling. "I do not take offense if you do not want to touch me, Chloe." He stood again, taking obvious extra care to not step on anybody.

I followed his movement, staring up at him; I thought I recognized him. A memory of last night fought its way into my mind. "Are you the one who fought against Mechadron?" I asked.

He looked down at me. "His designation is Megatron, but yes, that was me battling him."

"Oh…" More memories resurfaced. "So who fought the one robot that had captured me?"

Prime pointed to his co-workers. "That would be Ironhide." I followed the direction of the hand, and gasped when Mr. Hyde too blinked out of existence. Immediately, the Lennox's black pick-up rolled forward, only to have its hood split down in the middle. Unlike the other robots standing up though, it was on all four once the transformation was complete, its face close to mine. I took a step back, pressing myself firmly into Dad, and gulped.

"Thank you," the robot rumbled gently. His voice was as gruffly as Aaron Hyde always sounded, no matter how softly he intended to speak. "We owe you for bringing Ratchet back online."

Everyone threw me expectant glances. "I-It's… fine," I stammered, my voice wavering, several octaves higher than it was supposed to be. "No… need to… to owe me." I tried to smile, but I felt the grimace and earned a confused look from the Hyde-robot.

"Back up, 'Hide," Colonel Lennox said. He walked past me and patted the arm of the black robot. "You're scaring her."

The robot glanced at me, then huffed. "Apparently." He moved and quickly stood to his impressive height. He was somewhat bulkier than Wheeljack, and I didn't know if I saw that correctly, but I thought I detected cannons on his arms, _both_ of them. Was that why he was the weapons specialist with their unit? _What did I get myself into?_ I wondered.

Mom walked up to my side and nudged me. "Focus, sweetheart. You can stare at Ironhide's cannons all you want later." I craned my head to look at her and saw the amused grin on her face. Above us, the black robot harrumphed; it sounded like he was insulted. Suddenly I could see Aaron Hyde in this robot and I had to fight a grin, slowly relaxing.

Prime addressed me again. "And that is Prowl, my second-in-command." Mr. Prowl vanished, and his police car stood up to form a fourth robot. After three transformations, I no longer panicked – at least not too much. The Prowl-robot looked different to the others but interesting; he had sort of wings on the back.

I tugged on Dad's arm. "Just how many are there?" I asked in a whisper, looking around the corridor if there were any other vehicles that could transform.

He laughed quietly. "Quite a few more than the ones you met today. But their introduction can wait for another day."

Glancing back up to the robots, I fully agreed with that assessment. Four giants were enough for one day.

Prime looked toward the – how had Mom called it? – med bay. "It looks like everyone is out of the worst," he told me quietly after another moment, "so we might be able to disturb Ratchet for a minute. He still owes you his thanks after all."

It was only now that I realized how calm I had been the entire time, but the outlook of going back into the med bay let the panic return. I fought it down though. If I had survived the last minutes, I would survive returning into the med bay. Besides, the robot I repaired was just like Prime and his… colleagues.

Dad felt my inner battle and its outcome. "I'm proud of you, hon," he whispered into my ear. I looked up at his gentle brown eyes. "They may be dangerous, but only to their enemies. Some people, like Colonel Lennox, have worked with them ever since they arrived on Earth, making them friends."

"Have you?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm stationed at the hospital and don't have any immediate contact. I only sometimes work with Ratchet. But your mother had contact on a daily basis. She can tell you that they may be giants to our eyes, but they are gentle giants."

There were footsteps behind Dad and I looked up to see the robot with Jack's voice bend down to us. A piece of his eyes – or optics? – winked, while saying, "And we depend on you to fix our engines when Ratchet's not around to do it."

I think I squeaked in surprise. "Not helping, Wheeljack," Mom scolded and hugged me so that I was sandwiched between her and Dad. My eyes never left the Jack-robot.

"Sorry," it— he mumbled, scratching the back of his head again while straightening up.

Colonel Lennox said, "Chloe, if you don't want to go in there, you don't have to, you know?"

His words did it. I may be a chicken on so many levels, but I had my pride. And I trusted my parents when they said they wouldn't harm us. If Mom could work with them, then I would be able to talk to one for just a minute. So jutting out my chin defiantly, I stepped out of my parents' embrace and said to the robot – Wheeljack, "Show me." I tried to give my voice a strong enough ring, but I noticed that it nonetheless wavered.

The light in his eyes… eh optics brightened and he quickly strode toward the opposite wall. The door to the med bay opened. I followed him much slower, Mom and Dad at my sides for moral support. Curiosity rose, and expectantly, I once again stepped into the room where I'd repaired Ratchet.

They led me back to the ladder and made me climb up again. I wondered why as there was no robot up on the platform. But once we arrived above, with the Hyde-robot next to us (we were on waist-level with him now), I saw the robot I had repaired coming toward me, its bearing menacing. I tried to take a step backward, but as we were at the edge of the platform, another step would mean falling down. So I was forced to stay with Mom and fight the once again rising panic. After several breaths, I somewhat relaxed and could finally take a moment to compare the menacing robot to the Hyde-robot and Wheeljack. I noticed it was around the same height but leaner in built.

It bent low until the face was only inches away from me. I could have reached out and touched what appeared to be its nose, but I didn't dare, freezing. The blue optics were tightened in a glare. "So you are the youngling that crawled into my chassis and fumbled around with tools you've never even seen before?" he demanded in Mr. Hatchett's voice.

"… yeah…" I squeaked.

"Ratchet," Prime's voice sounded from the door. I didn't dare look away though. "She saved the lives of Arcee and the twins. We weren't able to bring you back online but she was. So cut the menace and give her some credit."

The robot – Ratchet – harrumphed angrily and rounded toward Johnston who I noticed stood on another platform on the other side of the med bay. "And you let her?"

Johnston didn't back away. "If you'll look, she's wearing protective gear. And we told her to stay clear of your spark chamber."

I turned to look at Mom, but instead, it was Colonel Lennox standing to my right side. "Be nice, Ratch, okay?" he called. "You wouldn't be here if it weren't for her."

I found Mom on my other side. "What's this about?" I asked her in a whisper.

In her stead, Colonel Lennox explained, "Ratchet's very adamant about protective gear and whatnot, not wanting to risk his repair team's health or lives. He's mad because they had you, a teenager, crawl into his chest."

I frowned. "Doesn't protective gear look different though? White and thick with helmet?"

"A hazmat suit? We do have one of these too, but they only need it when working on radioactive materials – which is thank God rarely the case."

"But a jumpsuit?" I tugged at the brown-gray material.

I didn't notice Ratchet having turned its attention back to us until I suddenly found myself being lifted up when something grabbed the back of the suit I was still wearing. I let out a scream of surprise and fear, trying to grasp at something – _anything_ – to hold onto. Below me, the others laughed.

"Ratchet's only demonstrating why we have this special protective gear, Chloe," Johnston called over to me.

"_What_?" I squeaked, alarmed. It's for being _grabbed_? I refrained from looking down; imagining the height I would fall down if the robot let go of me let me get dizzy already.

"No need to panic," Johnston hurried to say. "They're very gentle whenever they have to grab us. But that's why we have the protective gear. It's not only to protect our skin from the circuits and gears, but also to allow them a safe handling of ourselves."

Ratchet brought his other hand up and carefully set me down on the palm before letting go of the back of my jumpsuit. With my legs feeling like jello, I weakly sank down to a somewhat sitting position. "He is right," he said when he had lifted me to his eye— optic-level. "Squishing you while grabbing you is less likely than you being squished while crawling around in my insides. How would you like it if I crawled through your organs?" He wriggled the fingers of his unoccupied hand demonstratively.

I gulped, shaking. "I-I hardly d-doubt y-you'd f-fit into m-my b-body," I retorted. There was laughter again from the people on the platform.

"Mhmm," the robot made and it reminded me of the sounds Mr. Hatchett was making now and then, especially when he was flustered. "Feisty, are we?"

"N-no?" I squeaked.

His metallic face's expression suddenly morphed to a grin. "It's rare that a youngling like you can do what I in my position as medical officer can't. So I owe you my thanks and an apology for frightening you."

Baffled about the abrupt mood change, I asked, "Medical officer? Why would robots need a medical officer?"

He chuckled; it sounded like light thunder rumbling through the sky. "If you scrap your knee badly, where do you go? Not to a mechanic, do you? No, you go to a doctor. And when they scrap their knee badly, they go see a doctor as well, only that in their case, I don't just stitch them back up but swap out the knee plate."

I blinked, trying to imagine what he told me, then nodded thoughtfully. "Guess that makes sense." And only now I noticed that I had stopped shaking in panic.

"Glad you see it that way." He carefully set me back down onto the platform. Putting his hands on his hips, he then declared, "And now everyone get out. I need to work here."

…

We rode back home in silence, me staring out of the window. I was deep in thought, trying to come to terms with what I had learned today. My biggest concern was what this person coming to check on me would be like. But I also asked myself several times if I really wanted to have anything to do with these Autobots. Wouldn't life be much calmer if there weren't any alien robots around?


	22. Disclosure II

**Author Note:** My sincerest apologies for such a long wait. I had troubles with the little details. In the end, the chapter grew so large that I had to divide it. So don't worry, that's not yet all of it. There's more to come. I just have to get the final details down.

Many thanks for your support in form of reviews, story alerts and setting the story to your favorites! I can't tell you how immensely grateful I am for every form of feedback. I am glad you so far like the story. I hope the now coming revelations will answer most of your questions. :)

Enough waffling. Please enjoy the next installment. :)

* * *

><p>– chapter twenty-one –<p>

**Disclosure (2)**

With Dad's permission, I sat my last finals on Thursday and Friday (thankfully without a repeat of Tuesday's breakdown). I couldn't really concentrate though. It wasn't because the questions were hard but because my mind often drifted off to what happened at the beach and then in the hangar. I was torn between panic and curiosity. An alien species… Grandpa would have had a field day! Didn't I owe him to learn as much as possible, now that I _knew_ humans weren't the only sentient beings out in space?

On Friday afternoon, I was scheduled for another MRT scan. Dad told me when he came home from work on Thursday evening. In front of him I was at ease, but as soon as I was alone in my bedroom, I started to panic. Being scanned meant I would have to wear such a gown again, and with it barely reaching my knees, there was no way I could hide my altered skin.

The metal slivers had grown extensively, already wrapping spidery fingers around my stomach and reaching further upward. Touching it never hurt, nor did water or soap. It was like my skin only metallic, but I still didn't want my parents to know about it. They – especially Mom – would freak out, and with Freda being around now, Mom had enough stress to deal with.

Realizing that sitting on my bed and staring at my changed leg wouldn't solve my problem, I got up and started searching through my drawers. Maybe if I had trousers on… or if not trousers, then at least a very thin pantyhose. Though, if it was see-through and not concealing, why trying to be sneaky to wear it? Groaning, I sank onto the floor, leaning against my wardrobe. It was useless, I thought. Dad and the rest of the world would find out.

…

When I entered the x-ray department, I was surprised to see Mr. Hatchett wait for me. I stopped in my tracks and froze, staring at him. Colonel Lennox's words still rang in my ear; _the holoform you've got to know as Mr. Hatchett is just an extension of Ratchet._ Ron Hatchett didn't exist – but here he was, looking at me expectantly when I still hadn't moved after several moments.

"Chloe?" he eventually asked, sounding slightly impatient.

He looked human. He sounded human. It was difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that he was in reality a giant robot.

I took a careful step forward, bringing myself at arm's distance from him. He didn't react other than giving me a curious look. For a moment, I wondered what I should do now. Then I quickly reached out and tapped his arm.

He blinked, baffled, then sighed in exasperation. "I'm as real as you or that wall." He knocked against it demonstratively.

The sound was as real as it could get. "But Dad said yo—"

"Not here," he interrupted me. He nodded toward where the MRT scanner stood. "Let's go, please. There are others who need it once you're done." He opened the door, holding it for me. It amazed me how he was able to do that. But I didn't move. He sighed again. "Would you prefer if your father took over for me?" he challenged.

I quickly shook my head. Dad would watch me closely the entire time, I was sure of that, and instantly know about the metal coating when I had to change into the gown. With Mr. Hatchett there still was the chance that I could keep it a secret.

And luck seemed to be on my side; when I went to change, Mr. Hatchett left the room. I rushed toward the scanner without running and settled down. Once I had reclined, the bed was pushed inside automatically. I guessed they could activate everything from their control room, but I wasn't going to complain.

The hour passed quickly (they were doing only one scan this time, without contrast agents). I listened to the clacking of the spools and was engrossed in being able to feel the magnetic field and its impact on my body again, realizing I had missed it. After the magnets exploded in physics, I hadn't had been near some for quite a long time. It sounded weird, even to my ears, but I just couldn't help it. Lying in this strong magnetic field shift and change on a patterned basis was like a drug to me. It made me feel good and special. I doubted there was another person who would be able to feel what I did.

As I hadn't been injected sedatives this time around, I wasn't tired and didn't need a room to wake up in. Once released out of the MRT, I rushed back into the changing cabin and covered my leg again, relief washing through me that no one had seen it.

When I stepped out, though, I found myself face to face with Mr. Hatchett. He didn't say a word, but his look was pensive and… like he knew I was hiding something. Trying not to shuffle with my foot and draw his attention toward my leg, I stared back at him, looking braver than I felt. I was incredibly relieved when Dad called from down the hallway and I hurried to his side.

Before leaving the x-ray department, I threw a glance over my shoulder. Mr. Hatchett still stood where I had left him, but his eyes followed me. It felt like a foreboding.

…

On the drive home, while staring at my hands lying in my lap, I pondered over the phenomenon called holoforms. I had touched them on several occasions and they always felt like made of flesh and blood. How was that even possible, especially if – how Dad had said – 'holoform' was just another word for 'hologram'? And everyone knew that holograms were only see-through projections. But these holoforms looked like real humans. How?

Dad interrupted my musings. "You okay?" he asked gently.

Was I okay? Physically, yes. I had never felt better. The concussion from hitting the gym floor was gone, and apart from a handful light bruises where the Decepticon had grabbed me, there was nothing wrong with me. But mentally? Meeting living giant robotic aliens had shaken me, but interacting with holograms on human-scale levels was… disturbing. More so that I couldn't wrap my head around how they did that – and that extremely convincingly.

I shrugged, unsure of what to tell him. He didn't press for details.

Once back home, I immediately went upstairs into my room. I was restless and paced up and down. I just couldn't stop thinking about these holoforms and the mysteries behind them. After having crossed my room what felt like a hundred times without having come to a satisfactory solution to my ponderings, I spied a box in the corner next to my desk. The lid was halfway open, blotches of green and white on the very top having caught my attention. I went over and fully opened the box. It contained toy cars. Apart from the green and white car, a police cruiser and a blue semi with red flames appeared especially familiar. I took these three out, looking at them from all angles until it finally clicked: They were perfect miniatures of the cars I had seen at the base, shortly before they transformed to giant alien robots.

Tapping them on the floor, I let the hidden toy robots spring out, revealing the mini-replicas of Wheeljack, Prowl and Optimus Prime respectively. Setting them aside, I dug through the box until I found a Search and Rescue Hummer. The hidden robot looked identical to Ratchet.

Sitting back on my ankles, I let out a long sigh. I had had them for months, ever since Annabelle gave them to me at Christmas, and never before had I made the connection. Did my friend know what exactly she had given me?

I pulled the box closer and tested a couple of other toys. The mini-robots looked like they could exist in reality, and I thought that if four of these toys were like the originals, it meant the rest would be too. Were they here, on this island, as well? Ruffling through the box, I counted them. "Eighteen." There were eighteen robots on our planet.

"More. Don't forget about the Decepticons," a voice said. I turned around. Dad stood in my door, leaning against its frame.

Looking back at the Optimus Prime figure, I gulped. "How many exactly are there?"

"No one knows. The Autobots are certain that more will be coming over time, but they cannot say who or how many. A lot were offlined on Cybertron, but only Primus knew how many more were lost since Prime and his team left their home world."

I frowned at him. "Who?"

Dad smiled slightly. "Primus. He's their deity."

My eyebrows shot up in incredulity. "They have a _religion_?" But as soon as the question was out, I felt guilty for how I had made it sound. They were a living people so why could they not have a god of their own?

When I glanced at the innocently looking toys on my bedroom floor, sadness washed over me. This people had really lost so much due to their war. Had it been about religious differences, like the majority of wars here on Earth? Or was their believe the only constant still keeping them together as a people? Looking back at Dad, I asked, "How did the fighting begin?"

He came over and sat down on my bed. "I'm not entirely sure. None of the 'bots told me, but I heard the one or other thing from the soldiers I treated. They said it's all on Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons. He supposedly lost his marbles and accused Optimus of treason. Of course, Prime's friends wouldn't let him be offended like that. So they joined forces to defend Optimus' honor. It spiraled down from there."

"And carried over to Earth," I assumed.

Dad nodded and added, "But not before completely destroying their home planet first." He reached out and gingerly took up the toy of Optimus Prime.

I watched him for a moment, a thousand questions running through my mind. But I eventually only said, "Annabelle has given them to me." I pointed at the toys. "Does she know about them?"

Dad handed Optimus back to me. "Yes."

So my friend knew about everything that went on. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"Just like you aren't allowed to speak to anyone without clearance about them, she can't utter a single word either, even if she had wanted. Besides, would you have believed her?"

"It may have explained a couple of things." But I probably wouldn't have believed her without visible proof. Even now I could hardly believe that all was true and not just a wild fairytale. "For how long has she known?"

"Not very long. I think she only got clearance when she turned fifteen."

Remembering back to around her birthday, her changed behavior suddenly made sense. "But she knew them before," I said.

"Yes, but not as their real selves. She only knew them in their holoforms."

Which brought us back to my actual problem. "How is that even possible?" Dad looked at me questioningly, prompting me to clarify, "I mean, how do these holoforms work? They look so… realistic. Like actual humans."

"That is the point of having holoforms."

Duh! That was so not answering my question. "But how does it work?" I insisted. "You said a holoform is essentially only a hologram, and these are just projections. See-through. But the holoforms are solid."

"I don't really know how they do it," Dad explained slowly. "And to be honest, I doubt I'd be able to understand it were they to try and explain it to me. I'm a physician, not a scientist."

"But –"

He held up a hand, silencing me. "What you have to keep in mind is that they are extremely advanced technologically. They make our internet look like tin cans strung together by metal cords. Add to that their individual… configurations. Ironhide for instance is outfitted with weaponry rivaling a small country's army. Ratchet's equipped with tools the equivalent of a hundred Swiss army knives, if not more, and where Colonel Lennox can finish ten reports on a good day Prowl is able to complete five times the amount in only half the time – on a bad day." His gaze turned toward the toys, contemplative. When he continued, it was in a much quieter tone. "We can only pale in comparison, as does our technology on every level."

We remained silent for a little while, then I softly asked, "Did they never try to explain? To anybody?"

He shrugged. "Maybe they did, maybe not. I wouldn't know." He caught my eyes and held them. "My best advice is: Just accept that they have human-looking holoforms and do not think too much about it. You'll only end up with a splitting headache."

"You talking out of experience?"

He flashed me a guilty smile and I couldn't help but give him a small smile in return.

So maybe I would never be able to wrap my head around the concept of holoforms, but I would still try. I wanted to know how that worked; after all, I _was_ human. Humans were curious by nature. And after all those sci-fi tales grandpa had told me when I was a small kid, the scientist in me wanted to learn as much as possible. Especially now, when I had this once-in-a-lifetime chance to study real aliens.

But I also knew that I couldn't just nod everything off and continue like nothing ever happened. It would take time to get used to the fact that when I talked to say Mr. Hatchett, I was in reality having a conversation with a giant alien robot named Ratchet. Because despite being curious about them, I was still scared. Not just about their giant robotic selves, but their holoforms as well.

…

I was up in my room when the phone rang. Dad answered it in his usual crisp military greeting on the second ring, but didn't speak again – or at least not loud enough for me to hear anything. Only when he hollered up the stairs I knew he was done on the phone.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah?" I responded somewhat unenthusiastically but didn't bother getting up. I was reading a quite interesting novel and didn't want to be interrupted.

There was a moment of silence, then: "Chloe!" The tone had changed and suggested Dad was pissed that I didn't come down to ask what the matter was.

Sighing and marking the page, I grudgingly got up and out onto the floor. "What?" I called grumpily.

Dad stood at the foot of the stairs. "Change into something nice and then get down. We're expected at the base."

I frowned. "Now? Can't it wait?" Because I was so not in the mood to go out today.

Mom was walking by, her hands full with stuff for the diaper bag. "You heard your father. Now get moving. We leave in five minutes."

And if Mom said we'd be off in five minutes, we were off not a second early or late but exactly on time. Since Mom sat in the backseat with Freda in the baby carriage, I rode in the passenger seat next to Dad. While looking out of the window, I wondered if the person the JCS wanted to send already arrived – and what they wanted from me. Sure, I now knew about the alien robots hiding out on the base, but I signed the NDA and didn't breathe a word to anybody about what had happened, not even to Annabelle when we spoke on the phone last night.

The drive to the base seemed somewhat shorter than usual, or maybe it was just my nerves. I had no reason to be nervous as I hadn't done anything wrong – I _hoped_ – but I just couldn't help it.

The people at the control station winked us through as soon as they recognized Dad, then we drove straight to the base day care. Dad and I waited in the idling car while Mom brought Freda in. She stayed quite long, no doubt giving the caretaker a thorough rundown on what to do and not. Eventually, about ten minutes later, Mom finally came back and we continued our way over to the Autobot hangar. Dad parked in the designated lot next to it and we all filed out.

Colonel Lennox came toward us immediately. "Lieutenant, Private, Chloe," he greeted us, then said, "They're already waiting in the conference room."

"We better hurry then," Mom said, adding a mumbled apology for having taken so long.

"No sweat," Colonel Lennox said but guided us in and through a long corridor toward the same conference room I had been in when signing the NDA. This time, it wasn't empty though.

What surprised me was seeing Mr. Hatchett, Mr. Prime and Mr. Prowl when I entered. Holoforms. They had come as holoforms. Why? What was the purpose of their presence? And despite Dad's and my talk the previous day, I couldn't help but wonder why they did not just join us in their real forms. Obviously, twenty foot something tall robots didn't fit into the conference room, but I very much doubted the base didn't have at least one room large enough for Optimus Prime to fit in comfortably. That couldn't be the reason why they had come as holoforms.

But the three weren't the only ones in the room. There also was a man I didn't know yet. Another holoform? Or the person the JCS sent?

Ignorant to my thoughts, the colonel ushered us in and to my surprise closed the door behind himself. Knowing he'd be present at the… meeting somehow calmed me, giving me the feeling of it being real and not just a weird dream.

The stranger came toward me, smiling. "You're Chloe Roberts, right?" I nodded, still unsure how to evaluate the presence of the holoforms of Ratchet, Prime and Prowl. The man continued, "Glad to meet you. I'm Samuel Witwicky, but you may call me Sam." He held out his hand in greeting.

"Hello, Mr. Witwicky," I said quietly while shaking his hand. There was no way I was going to call an adult by their first name, even if they offered it.

Mr. Witwicky seemed a bit put out at me ignoring his offer, and over his left shoulder I saw Mr. Prime smile in amusement. I thought he meant me, but when Mr. Witwicky glanced back at Mr. Prime, he grimaced. Seemed they understood each other without words which only encouraged my theory of him being one of them, despite him feeling human. But as I knew from first-hand experience, these holoforms were very accurate at imitating us.

Breaking my train of thoughts, Colonel Lennox said, "We're all here now, so let's start."

Mom and Dad ambled toward three empty chairs at the one side of the table, so I followed them. Mr. Prowl, Mr. Hatchett and Mr. Prime sat down across from us, leaving Mr. Witwicky and Colonel Lennox to take the chairs at the head and end of the table.

Mr. Witwicky spoke first, his tone and expression serious. "I know it will be a lot to take in, but it's imperative that everything you learn today remains a secret."

I nodded, a little wary at how official he made it sound, especially after I already signed the non-disclosure agreement.

Nodding himself, Mr. Witwicky then continued, "Several thousand years ago, an object of great importance crash-landed on our planet. Both the Autobots and Decepticons were looking for it, eventually landing on Earth. Both factions fought for it, but the Cube got destroyed."

"Cube?"

He nodded. "The All Spark or – because of its form – the Cube. It creates life for them. They cannot reproduce without it."

"But if it's destroyed…"

"We cannot create new life, correct."

The way he phrased it… "Are you…?"

"Human?" he finished for me when I couldn't bring myself to say the word. I nodded slowly, once. Mr. Witwicky chuckled. "Yes. I'm as human as they come."

"Oh… okay." So much for thinking he was a holoform. But he had said 'we' instead of 'they,' so…

Mr. Witwicky seemed to read my thoughts. He smiled and said, "I can understand where you're coming from. I'm… a friend of the Autobots, not a… an alien like them."

"So you're the one the JCS sent," I concluded.

He hemmed and hawed a moment. "In a way…" he eventually allowed hesitantly.

I frowned. That was one of those abstruse answers I always received these days.

"Don't worry about the details of my person," Mr. Witwicky said, again making it sound like he could read my thoughts. That he dismissed that discussion was clear when he returned to the actual topic at hand. "Now, Chloe, as I understand it Wheeljack told you about the Autobots."

Wheeljack – the robot that transformed out of Johnston's car. I nodded.

Mr. Witwicky leaned back against his chair. "I understand that you were introduced to five Autobots in person, but no more, correct?"

Once again I nodded, absent-mindedly wondering whether wagging my head would be the only thing I was going to do throughout this meeting. Curious to know where he was going, I asked, "So what's the question?"

Mr. Witwicky chuckled. "Impatient, are we?" he asked rhetorically, apparently humoring me, then he sobered up. "It's not about me questioning you, but rather us… them telling you something you should know."

Mom and Dad sitting on each of my sides exchanged a worried glance. I frowned. "I'm not sure I can follow."

Mom spoke up. "Is that really necessary? I mean… there's never been any incident, not since… then."

Mr. Prime looked at her gravely. "I'm afraid it has become necessary, Private Roberts. If it were for us, we wouldn't tell Chloe what we're about to tell her, but there have been recent changes and events indicating the development has sped up. We can no longer hide it from her, and she has the right to know."

"The hell she has!" Mom exclaimed loudly while Dad incredulously said, "Linda!" My head swiveled around so fast to stare at her that I thought my neck cracked. But Mom wasn't to be deterred. "We never signed anything telling us we had to confide in her," she said in answer, both to Dad and Mr. Prime.

The latter met Mom's disgruntled look evenly and calmly stated, "You didn't, but it's Chloe's life we're talking about. Don't you want your daughter to know about what happened and is going to happen?"

I was getting more and more confused. "What are you talking about? Mom?" Of course, Mom didn't answer.

Dad, however, did. "We're talking about your abduction last summer, Chloe."

I momentarily froze before I slowly turned around to stare at Dad. "What?"

"You see," Mr. Hatchett explained slowly and I turned my attention toward him, "your abduction and the events on Wednesday morning are connected."

Was he talking about the incident on the beach, the 'meeting' with Cole and Louisa and the eventual battle between Decepticons and Autobots?

Not waiting for a reply, Mr. Hatchett asked, "Do you recall telling the doctor and your parents that you remembered a robot from the time of your abduction?"

I nodded once again, deepening the frown.

Mr. Hatchett himself nodded pensively. "A robot like the ones you've seen here on this island?" I didn't need to answer as he continued almost immediately, "You didn't imagine that nor had a bad dream. The robot was real. The Decepticons were the ones behind the abduction."

I felt like brain-dead, totally numb and unable to really process what the man tried to tell me. A _Decepticon_ had kidnapped me? "Why would they do that?" I asked, not sure I really wanted to get an answer to that question.

Mr. Prime gave it anyway. "To experiment. We don't know yet the ultimate intention, but they used you for an experiment."

"You heard about the Transformers' history, Chloe," Mr. Witwicky said and I turned toward him, my head starting to hurt from the information that only came in puzzle pieces it seemed. "Their home world was destroyed by war, but they continue fighting. Here on Earth. The Autobots have to in order to protect the humans before the Decepticons can destroy this planet like they destroyed theirs."

… _What? _My mind reeled, trying to make sense of the last sentence he had rattled through, all the while attempting to ignore the many question marks dancing cha-cha around my head. I settled on one of the more confusing points and asked, "I thought you said they came here because of that cube. But it got destroyed. Why continue fighting? Why not just leave?"

"Why indeed," Mr. Prime mused quietly with a glance toward Mr. Witwicky.

"The All Spark may have been destroyed," Mr. Witwicky explained slowly, "but its powers have not. They merely got transferred into another vessel."

I frowned. "So the fighting is about that vessel now?"

All three holoforms nodded.

That made sense, even to me. Though, that still didn't explain me being kidnapped. I therefore asked, "But why?"

"Why what?" Mr. Witwicky said.

"Why kidnapping me? What's the purpose in that?"

Dad took my hand and I turned toward him, but it was Mr. Prowl who spoke up. "You have two armies. One is stronger and assumed to going to win the war. What is the other army going to do then?"

"Send a spy?" I suggested. "But –"

Mr. Prowl held up a hand. "Yes, spies – several, not just one. The more, the better. But a soldier can't just walk into an enemy base for spying, can he? They need to send someone inconspicuous to infiltrate and gather recon. That's what the Decepticons intended when they abducted you."

That still didn't answer my question. "Okay, so, that's great – or not so great if you want to be correct about it, but… why the experimenting? And why me? What can I do they can't? I'm not a spy."

"No, you're not," Mr. Prowl agreed. "But you're human."

I gaped at him. "_What_?" What did _that_ have to do with anything?

He explained, "A spy would need to transmit his findings into his army's camp, wouldn't they? With humans, he'd find a secure phone line or another method, but we communicate by other means. They wanted you to have these means by building them into you. Since your species is completely organic and our mechanic, they intended to transform you to a mechanic being able to communicate on our levels.

"But apart from spying, once inside the enemy's camp, a spy can also try to make as much damage as possible to throw the army back. Take out their weapons and you leave them defenseless. Take out their communications and they have no way of coordinating their attacks which leaves them scattered and easy to be attacked. A spy can do sabotage work just as well – or if you want to turn it around, a saboteur can do the work of a spy too."

"We don't know for sure if spying and sabotage is what they wanted," Colonel Lennox threw in, making it obvious that this discussion wasn't led for the first time. "For all we know they could have other motives."

"That may be," Mr. Prowl replied calmly, "but spying and sabotage are logical explanations."

"Prowl has a point, Will," Mr. Prime said when the colonel still looked unconvinced.

"Think about it," Mr. Prowl continued. "We are friends with humans; we fight and work with them. We more or less even live together. The Decepticons are scattered and barely able to withstand our attacks. Without some information on our tactics and help from the inside to actively disrupt our operations, they will lose this War. Getting a spy and saboteur into our midst is the logical conclusion to their dilemma."

Silence settled, the words slowly thinking in. "But why not just send someone of their own?" I asked.

"Because we would know if it's a Decepticon," Mr. Prowl evenly answered. "Even if they distorted their sparks' energy, their cover would – earlier than later – be blown."

Suddenly Dad mumbled, "In contrast, a human – a child at that – will seem to be no threat to us." Mr. Prowl acknowledged Dad's words with a nod in his direction.

Mr. Hatchett frowned. "That is ridiculous."

Dad shook his head with a sigh and addressed Mr. Hatchett before Mr. Prowl had a chance to speak. "I'm afraid it isn't. Consider this: When learning about the Decepticons having experimented on the kids, what did you do the first chance you got?"

"I made sure they were all right and no harm came from it," Mr. Hatchett replied immediately, looking indignant that Dad would question his honor as a doctor.

"Exactly! You like humans, you protect them. So you would try everything robotic possible to save them from a violent death. And that's what they were most likely counting on, that you take care of their incomplete experiments and finish it."

Colonel Lennox shared a pensive look with Mr. Witwicky while Mr. Hatchett looked aghast. "I would never shoot a human up with nanites to transform them," he stated adamantly.

"Not out of free choice," Dad corrected, "but what if the human already was transformed far enough that their life was in danger and shooting up nanites into their system was the only way to save him or her?"

Mr. Hatchett looked anguished, answering Dad's question without words: he would do what Dad thought he would, but he would feel terrible about it. Dad nodded, apparently having expected this reaction.

"That still doesn't explain what it has to do with me," I said. "They didn't… make me a robot." That would be ridiculous. But the voice in the back of my head dryly pointed me toward the fact of my skin being partly coated with metal. _That change hadn't started until around end of February_, I firmly told myself. _I didn't have that when I still was in the hospital._ Besides, I felt wonderfully normal.

Dad threw me a long glance, one that was hard to decipher. I thought I could see sadness and worry in his eyes, but also a slight touch of incredulity. A cold shiver ran down my spine. "They didn't… _did_ they?" I asked, close to panicking.

"Of course they didn't," Mom responded resolutely. I looked at her. She only gave me a brief smile before glaring at first Mr. Prime, then Mr. Prowl and finally at Mr. Hatchett. "You cleared her."

"If you remember correctly, I said they're _dormant_, not _dead_," was the doctor's irritated reply.

For a moment, Mom struggled for words. Eventually, she said, "Nothing suggests that changed."

Mr. Hatchett opened his mouth to speak, but Dad was faster. "Actually, Linda," he began slowly, and once he had Mom's and my attentions, he said, "there was a change." Then, before I could stop him, he reached down and lifted my left leg onto his knee, only to pull up my trousers, revealing the changed skin beneath it.


	23. Disclosure III

**Author's Note: **A quick thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'll answer them in a moment. And without further preamble I present the final part of "Disclosure." Enjoy!

* * *

><p>– chapter twenty-two –<p>

**Disclosure (3)**

There was shocked murmuring around the room, Colonel Lennox and Mr. Witwicky jumping off their chairs. Mom paled, her eyes wide. She looked aghast at my leg and the metal coating where skin should have been, the alloy shimmering silvery in the light of the room.

Horrified at Dad's actions, I tried to yank my foot out of his hand and hide it again – I didn't care that everyone now knew. I just wanted to cover the metal. But, of course, Dad wouldn't let go. So blushing in embarrassment, I leaned back against my chair and wished I could sink into a hole in the floor. I wondered where from Dad knew – and for how long he had known. I had suspected that he saw through my secret, but had never been entirely sure because he never really let anything on. And now I didn't have the slightest clue what he thought of me never having said anything about it to anybody. What was I supposed to do now?

Eventually, Mom slowly sank back into her chair. "But… how?" she asked, thoroughly taken aback, still staring at my leg in horror.

"Chloe had it for a while," Dad calmly answered her, "and she knew about it. She purposefully hid it." He glanced at me; his expression was smooth and not angry. Was it possible he didn't resent me for my actions?

Mom, however, was an entirely different story. "You _what_?" she exclaimed in an explosion-like manner, sitting up straight again and alerted. "Why didn't you tell us?" A notch louder and she would be screaming.

"Linda," Dad said curtly.

I shrank even further back in my seat, averting my eyes and not daring to look at anyone.

Mom was enraged, but when she realized she wouldn't receive an answer from me, she rounded on Dad. "Say something, James," she snarled at him. "Keeping this from us…" She trailed off and I peeked at her.

"Mrs. Roberts," Mr. Witwicky spoke up, maybe trying to calm her, but he went ignored.

Because suddenly, Mom's expression changed when it dawned on her that Dad had known. There was a mix of betrayal and anger clearly visible in both her features and eyes. "Why didn't _you_ say something?" she demanded heatedly from him.

"Mrs. Roberts," Mr. Witwicky tried again, but once more, Mom took no notice.

Dad held her eyes evenly, calmness personified – to my surprise. He released my leg and I quickly covered the metal before sitting back in embarrassment. I did not dare meet the others' gazes, instead opting for staring at my fingers wringing nervously in my lap. This wasn't lost on Mom, so when she opened her mouth to continue her rant, Dad spoke up. "We kept things from her too, Linda, remember?" His tone had a slight sharpness to it and I noticed the officer in him come through. "Chloe is growing up; it's only natural that she no longer confides in us with every single detail." I was relieved that at least one person seemed to be on my side, but I doubted it would be enough to spare me from Mom's anger.

Of course, Mom didn't let go of the discussion this easily. After Dad had made his position clear, she turned her focus back to me and pressed, "Where is this going to lead when you no longer tell us something of such importance, Chloe?"

"Mrs. Roberts," Mr. Witwicky interjected, more pronounced than before. Mom turned to glare at him. He didn't falter under her stare, instead trying a diplomatic approach, "Your husband is right. Your daughter is going to celebrate her fifteenth birthday soon; she's on her way to becoming an adult. Besides, teenagers in general are less open with their parents about things they want to keep secret. I was the same with my parents. It's the first step toward independency."

Mom heaved an irritated sigh; it almost sounded like a snarl. "I have nothing against her having secrets from us, but something like _this_ –" she pointed toward my leg "– is more than a mere secret. This is concerning her health, her life."

Mr. Hatchett cleared his throat, catching our attentions. "Lieutenant James Roberts here is an excellent physician, Private Roberts. If he ever suspected Chloe to be in mortal danger, he would have done everything humanly possible to save her." Mom wanted to interrupt again, but Mr. Hatchett held up a hand to signal he wasn't done yet. "To you it may seem like your daughter is going to slip away, but I can assure you that she is not. At least not because of the changes her body goes through right now."

Mom glared at him, then at Mr. Witwicky and finally at Dad. "Why didn't you tell me? _Why_, James?"

"Because it was Chloe's secret to tell, and she clearly didn't want to share it."

Since Dad was still very calm about it, obviously defending me, Mom rounded back at me. "Why, Chloe? _Why_? You used to tell me everything!"

I did, but… this was something different entirely. "I was scared, Mom…"

"You used to rely on us to take care of things that scared you, Chloe!" Mom exclaimed, now really shouting while Dad interjected a warning "Linda!" I grimaced at the noise whereas Mom ignored Dad, continuing, "We would have taken care of that for you!"

Her last words made me snap. Everything I had bottled up since last summer erupted in one big explosion.

"And how exactly would you have dealt with something like _that_?" I shot back angrily and pointed at my leg. Mom opened her mouth for a comeback, but I wasn't done just yet; too much had been left unsaid between us, and I could no longer hold it in. "You have no idea what it's like to be scared to death. I went through hell! There were strange shadows and voices, and I had no idea what was happening to me. Not to mention the constant pain I was in. It felt like a blade was viciously stabbed through me, hard enough to make me scream out loud in agony. I was burning from the inside. I hurt all over and didn't know whether it'll ever stop again. You think you could have taken care of _that_ for me?" Hot tears welled up in my eyes, immediately spilling over. Remembering those horrible moments hurt. My chest clenched tight with waves of fear, pain, anger, betrayal and many other, right now indefinable emotions racing each other. "I've never in my entire life been more scared," I quietly added after a moment of trying to catch my breath. In retrospect, not even getting introduced to the Autobots had been this horrifying.

No one spoke for a long while, obviously shocked or surprised at what I had said. I so far hadn't spoken much about what I experienced last summer. I had tried burying the memories as deeply as I could, my only way out of the constant nightmares I had faced. It obviously didn't work out in the long run, but I no longer cared. It didn't even matter that some of the people present were of the same race that did that to me. I didn't care if I hurt them. All that counted was that everything I had bottled up was out now, and it felt good. I felt really light, like a huge burden had been taken off me.

Mom was at first as speechless as everybody else, but she quickly caught herself. "You could have talked to us," she said, much calmer than before, but still heatedly enough.

In a way, I could sympathize with her; her daughter had been abducted and tortured, and said daughter never spoke a word about it. She worried about me, like any mother would. _But what would you have done?_ I wondered. _Confide in someone and risk becoming a monumental joke or hope to work through it yourself and ultimately forget? _No one would have believed me had I said I'd been kidnapped by giants. Giants were mythical creatures – or at least, I thought they were. The fact remained though: who would have believed me? So I did the only logical thing: I remained silent.

"Linda," Dad said once more but gently. Nonetheless, it was the wrong thing to do.

"Don't you 'Linda' me!" Mom snapped at him, irritated.

Mr. Prime reached across the table to take Mom's hand and her head swiveled toward him. I was sure she would lash out at him as well, but to everyone's surprise, she flinched and pulled her hand away like his touch had burned it.

There was silence for several long moments in which Mr. Hatchett stared at me pensively, then he stood and came around the table. Crouching down next to my chair and pointing toward my left leg, he asked me, "May I?" After having caught Dad's eyes, I nodded at the doctor. "Thank you," he said warmly.

Dad swiftly stood and thus gave Mr. Hatchett room. The doctor gratefully accepted the offer and sat down. He took my leg and slowly pulled my trousers up to the knee, careful to not hurt me. The touch was very gentle, but I still felt everything with intense clarity. When he gently ran a finger over the metal, I hissed and grabbed the armrests. He looked up at me sharply. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head. "No, but it tickles."

He smiled slightly, placated, and ran a finger along the edge where skin and metal met. "What about that?"

"Neither hurts nor tickles."

He nodded, continuing with the examination for another moment before asking, "How much does it cover you?"

I bit my lip; that information would tick Mom off again, for sure. Dad stood next to her and put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "Chloe," was all he said, but it was warning enough.

Sighing, I gave in to my fate and said, "My entire left foot, what you see of my shin, nearly my entire thigh and hip, and some thin strand-like extensions aiming down the right leg as well as up the stomach."

"Nowhere else?" I shook my head no while he looked down again to study the metal, carefully – to not tickle me again – running his finger over it. He then slowly peeled off my shoe and sock and put my foot into his palm, running with his other, flattened hand over the top of my foot before carefully twisting my ankle in various directions. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

He let go of my leg again, and this time, I didn't bother covering it up. He kept sitting in Dad's chair, his gaze distant for several minutes. When he refocused on me, he softly asked, "You said you've been 'burning from the inside,' but you're not just limiting it to the time the Decepticons experimented on you, are you?" It sounded more like a statement than a question.

I gulped down the remembered terror, tears threatening to spill over again. I could force them down for now and shook my head. "No," I breathed, not looking at him.

"When else did you experience it?" he asked.

My hands wandered to my stomach and right side, where the worst burns had been. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed that movement wasn't lost on the doctor. "Several times, throughout the last months," I replied slowly and quietly. "It always happened before the metal spread further." I glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

Mr. Hatchett looked pensive but didn't comment. He kept his eyes on me, though, his gaze becoming distant once more before refocusing not a moment later.

Mr. Prime asked, "Ratchet?"

The doctor gave me another thoughtful look before he turned a little to face Mr. Prime. "The changes vary depending on the composition of the tissue," he began. "Soft tissue like fibers is easier to convert than more durable tissue like bones."

"In yesterday's update you said the main changes are to her skeleton and skin," Mr. Prowl interrupted. "Your report and just made statement don't comply."

The doctor sighed in aggravation; it nearly sounded like a growl. "It would if you'd let me finish before offering unsolicited comments," he snapped across the table.

"Ratchet," Mr. Prime said, "please." He gestured in my direction.

"And better explain it in a way that non-physicians can understand it too," Colonel Lennox added. I glanced from one to the other, uncertain if I even wanted to know what they were talking about.

Sighing in resignation, Mr. Hatchett turned back to me. "As you may have heard before, we have mechanisms for internal self-repair, conducted by nanites. The Decepticons used such nanites on you, during their experiments. These nanites are responsible for the changes you undergo."

_What?_ I frowned in confusion, but before I could ask for an explanation, Mom said, "The metal coating her skin isn't the only change?"

Mr. Hatchett shook his head. "No, though it's the most obvious and among the farthest changes. I have to admit that I'm surprised you were able to conceal it for several months, Chloe."

Mom and I stared at him. "You knew?" she asked before I could, her voice wavering in incredulity, but I also detected the accusatorial undertone.

Mr. Hatchett looked at her. "Yes, I did. We all did, in fact. It's not difficult to notice, especially when our scanners ping loudly as soon as they detect the metal."

"Scanners?" I queried.

At the same time, Mom blurted out, "And you never told me?" The accusation was now clearly audible.

"We didn't want to unnecessarily worry you," Mr. Hatchett calmly answered Mom, his tone dismissive, before turning back toward me. "Scanners," he confirmed. "From the moment you set foot on this island, you've been under observation most of the time. We arranged it to keep someone in scanner range as often as possible to keep a tap on you. In fact, that is why your family moved here. I needed to have you close by."

Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he continued, addressing the room in general, "Like I said before, soft tissue is easier to convert, but I assume the Decepticons changed the programming because apart from the obvious skin replacements, relatively little of the soft tissue has been altered. Noticeable changes are to your right kidney and stomach. With both, about a quarter to a third is changed. Every other organ remains unaffected as it currently stands."

"Could an alteration to the stomach be a reason for not eating?" Dad asked generalized, but I thought I knew he was thinking of that one weekend when I had no hunger at all.

Mr. Hatchett pursed his lips pensively, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Possibly," he answered eventually, glancing between me and Dad. "Are you asking with something specific in mind?"

Dad shrugged nonchalantly. "No, just curious."

The doctor bored his eyes into Dad's but didn't get him to crack, so Mr. Hatchett turned back to me. "I furthermore detected a few seams of metal among fibers and muscles. The majority of either so far seems unchanged, but I cannot be completely sure. There might be changes that I can't see because breathing and constant muscle movements – even if you do not move consciously – make it hard for precise scans. The MRT didn't even uncover these few seams so we're a little 'blind' in that regard.

"As for your nervous system… the majority is exchanged, but the system itself still functions without restrictions. On the contrary… your senses have heightened, haven't they? Colors have more vibrancy; you perceive them differently to what you were used to, no? Sounds are also much clearer, and you can hear tones you couldn't before, am I right?"

"How do you know?" I whispered, turning more and more baffled. He could 'see' more than an MRT scanner?

He smiled slightly. "It's how our senses function."

I stared at him, uncertain whether I should feel surprised, excited or downright scared. That decision could wait, I decided; however, the one thing that didn't make sense to me, at all, could not. "But –" I began before trailing off again, unsure of how to phrase it.

"But?" he prompted when I still hadn't completed my sentence after a few moments.

"Well…" How best to say it? "I learned at school that what we see with our eyes is directly transported to our brains. These nerves are in my head. But my head isn't affected yet." I paused and briefly glanced at Dad. "At least, you didn't say it was, and it doesn't feel like it is…"

He nodded slowly. "You're right, I didn't. The head by itself has not yet been affected. However, nanites are base-programmed to always repair the worst damage first. That _cannot_ be changed, no matter how long or hard you try to tweak the programming. As the neural network is very important to our functioning, any fault to it would be repaired immediately. Since your nervous system accounts as very faulty from a nanite's program's perception, they would repair it first."

"Which in Chloe's case translates to 'transform'?" Colonel Lennox asked. Mr. Hatchett nodded.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Mr. Witwicky frown. "Does that mean her nervous system is already… metallic?"

Mr. Hatchett turned toward him. "Not metallic but equivalent to how our neural network is designed." He briefly glanced at me before adding, "But yes, about eighty percent of her nervous network is no longer of biologic origin."

"What about her skeleton?" Mr. Prime asked.

Mr. Hatchett sighed. "These changes are mostly analog to the skin change. Her left leg's bones are completely transformed, and the pelvis is about halfway there. My guess is that the nanites mainly attacked her skin and nervous system, leaving muscles and the like alone for the time being, while the shells rebuilt her skeleton."

Mom suddenly gave a sob and I looked at her. She had tears in her eyes that spilled over when we locked eyes. A hand covered her mouth while the other went to grab Dad's that lay on her shoulder for support; it couldn't hide the fear in her expression.

And finally I grasped what they were telling me: I was being transformed into a robot – and everyone apart from me had known. Panic washed over me; the ground was drawn from beneath me and I was falling endlessly into darkness. I was screaming at the top of my lungs for help, but there was no answer – only everlasting silence. This feeling of helplessness brought tears back to my eyes that instantly spilled over.

Unable to continue holding eye contact with Mom, I turned back to Mr. Hatchett and searched for his blue eyes that usually held infinite wisdom. Today, however, they were blank. He sent me a sad smile. "I'm going to die?" I breathed, then shivered when an icy wave of terror rolled down my spine. I hugged myself for warmth and comfort, still holding his gaze.

Suddenly, the frightening blankness got replaced with grim resolution. I immediately latched onto that, tentative hope swelling in my chest. His blue eyes searched mine, then bored into them. "Not if I can prevent it," he told me firmly, the clearly audible determination nourishing the hope, blending its warmth with the icy terror until it was halfway bearable. Somehow I knew the coldness would never again go away entirely, but as long as I had the chance to feel a little bit optimistic, it would be enough.

I decided to trust him.

Mr. Witwicky looked from Mr. Prime via Mr. Prowl to Mr. Hatchett. "Why didn't you tell her earlier? After she got abducted? Why wait until now?"

Mr. Hatchett's expression turned pensive. "So far there was no reason to unnecessarily worry her," he said slowly after a moment. "When she got released out of the hospital after the abduction, she was cleared. As far as I could see, the nanites in her body were dormant, meaning that there would be no more changes to her organic tissue. I have to admit that there was a risk of the nanites becoming active again, simply because I couldn't tell why they had fallen dormant to begin with. But for all I knew and calculated, she could have lived her life without ever needing to know. She could have died a peaceful death in high age.

"However, the Decepticons not only implanted nanites into her body but into her heart too. And the one in her heart exploded. On hindsight, I'm quite certain I even know the exact moment it happened." He looked sad, like feeling guilty that he hadn't been able to protect me. He continued, speaking to me directly, "The energy freed in that explosion has interfused with your blood, fanning out over your entire body. When it then came into contact with your cells' nuclei, it killed them. The resulting necrosis is the main reason why we're telling you now."

"Necrosis?" I asked, confused.

"Death of cells," Dad explained. "Cell death is a natural process and normally programmed. In general, the dead cells are replaced again. Not so when you suffer from necrosis. Necrosis results from outside influence like for example toxins. Usual treatment would be surgery."

_But that's not possible in my case_, I mentally finished the sentence Dad had not. I stared at him in horror. "So I _am_ going to die? And the burning was just the beginning?" I felt hollow inside.

Mr. Hatchett quickly reached out and took my hands, squeezing them. "No," he said, but I didn't know which of my questions he thus answered. "The burns you described are the result of the nanites' energy burning away your biological energy. Organic cell energy and the nanites' energon-based energy aren't mutual, inducing incredible heat when the alien energy destroys the one produced naturally in your body. That's why you felt like being stabbed or as if burning from the inside. The metal growing would actually occur before a nanite's 'death,' but I suppose you never checked, only after the pain had subsided."

"So I'm not going to die?"

The question hung in the room, remaining unanswered.

When the silence became heavy and I was about to succumb to a full-blown panic, Mom asked, "What about her headaches?" Her voice shook; the revelations must have been as much a shock to her as to me. "Do they have something to do with… this too?" She gestured weakly in the general direction of my leg.

"Headaches?" Mr. Hatchett perked up.

I looked down, avoiding his probing gaze, while Dad said, "She complained about suffering from them, but as headaches are nothing too unusual, I didn't intervene apart from occasionally handing out pain reliever." He paused before admitting, "I didn't think they went hand in hand with the transformations."

Mr. Hatchett let go of my hands and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I suppose they resulted from the changes her nervous system underwent. It's possible that her body conducted a test to make sure the 'newly' created neural lines function properly. As the still organic part of the nervous system, the brain, was not used to it, it hurt."

"And voila, a headache," Dad mumbled.

Mr. Hatchett nodded and added, "If I'm not mistaken, the headaches will vanish again once the nervous system has completely been exchanged."

I guessed I could at least look forward to that one if nothing else. Then a thought occurred to me. "So my breakdown in gym finals –"

"– was the result of nanite energy burning off your biological energy at the same time of your partly altered nervous system conducting a functionality test," Mr. Hatchett finished my sentence. His face then took on a puzzled look. "What I don't understand is that the magnetic field of the MRT would wake up the dormant nanites to continue the transformation. Metal in an MRT scanner is highly dangerous, but I personally saw to it that the scanner's magnetic field wouldn't cause any problems. The only reaction was from the nanite in your heart. The magnetic field probably reacted with the drone's energon-based energy and sent it to go nova, but I can't explain why it would happen to only this one nanite and not the rest."

"I don't think it was any of the magnets that let the nanite explode." Mr. Hatchett threw a surprised look at Dad and he explained, "If that had been the case, why didn't it happen during the first hour? The explosion didn't happen before we took the second series of scans." He looked at me. "I believe it was the contrast agents. I assume their chemical composition didn't agree with the nanite's energy. Remember, you didn't feel well."

Mr. Hatchett frowned. "Interesting theory, but I repeat: Why only this one nanite and not the rest? The contrast agents spread out through her entire body."

Dad looked at me pensively, as if I was the answer to the question. Eventually, his expression changed to one of realization. He turned to Mr. Hatchett. "I introduced the contrast agents to her bloodstream, a vein to be precise. As the heart is basically the bloodstream's pump and literally sucks in blood from veins, the nanite within the heart would quickly come into direct contact with the chemicals, whereas the other nanites are scattered throughout tissue blood doesn't reach that easily, thus remaining unaffected."

So Dad had not only noticed that something had gone wrong, he could even explain why. And he still had never told me what was happening to me.

"_Slag_!" Mr. Hatchett suddenly mumbled viciously. When I glanced at him, he was looking down, balling his hands into tight fists. "That would mean it's my fault," he said quietly after another moment, close to whispering. "It was _I_ who insisted on a scan with contrast agents…" He gritted his teeth in obvious self-loathing before meeting my eyes again. "I'm sorry, Chloe."

I stared at him, tongue-tied and wide-eyed, another wave of horror running down my spine. Tears threatened to fall again. My insides boiled in anger while terror held me in a vice-like grip. I didn't even know what to feel so what did he want me to say in response? I just learned that I was going to die from necrosis and that it was his fault, and he expected me to simply accept his apology, even if it was meant as sincere as it had sounded? The tears spilled over and I didn't stop them. I no longer cared. The trust I wanted to place in him was crushed to smithereens.

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Dad reach out to his fellow doctor, like he wanted to comfort him, but he stopped before actually touching Mr. Hatchett. "You couldn't have known something like that would happen," he instead said, the tone consoling.

"It's our technology," Mr. Hatchett shot back. "I _should_ have known!"

"If the Decepticons tinkered with it, who knows what programming they changed," Mr. Witwicky threw in. Dad nodded vehemently in agreement.

Mr. Hatchett turned pensive, still anguished. "You have a point; it would make sense. I would have to investigate that, but we may never know for certain as the possibly altered nanite is no longer existent." He sighed in obvious misery and my heart went out for him unconsciously. The tears stopped but I still didn't verbally accept his apology. The shock and disappointment sat too deep.

Mr. Prowl spoke, "Nonetheless, run some tests. Even unaltered nanites might tell us more."

"I concur," Mr. Prime added.

Silence fell again, only disrupted by Mom's sobbing and blowing her nose. Eventually, she said, "But how could her skin have… become like that if the MRT was… recalibrated?"

"If only I knew," came Mr. Hatchett's reply. "Where I couldn't get a detailed scan of the nanite in her heart, I got a log on the ones throughout her body, and their programming appeared to be like the one I use for nanites. That's what I used as a basis for recalibrating the MRT. It simply shouldn't have happened. But on yesterday's scan, we could clearly see how much the transformation had progressed, far beyond of what we had seen the first time. I just can't explain _how_ it happened, more so because the skin change hadn't yet occurred in September and the nanites in her body were inactive."

"I believe it started end of February," Dad said, catching everyone's attentions. "Chloe's class was experimenting with magnetic fields in physics and hers exploded. About two weeks afterward, she no longer went swimming or wore shorts or skirts, only long trousers and socks in her shoes."

Mom glanced from Dad to me, wide-eyed. "I never noticed."

Dad squeezed her shoulder. "You were highly pregnant and then busy with Freda, darling."

"Now that you say it… Arcee informed me about the sudden change but I didn't understand how," Mr. Hatchett said. He then sent a glare in Mr. Prime's direction. "We could have had results much earlier if you had let me run tests as I asked."

"What difference would one week have made?" Mr. Prowl said.

Mr. Hatchett turned to glare at him. "I meant _months_ ago."

Mr. Prime looked calmly back at the doctor. "Remember, old friend, you yourself said it wouldn't be wise to run tests when Arcee first informed us."

Mr. Hatchett pressed his lips together until they were a thin line, his eyes' expression a mix of anger and guilt. "At first! But when getting updates on her status, I asked you again – and you denied me! I might have been able to stop the transformation if I just had had access to her. That's why she's here on Diego Garcia after all."

"Ratchet," Mr. Witwicky intervened before Mr. Prime could say something, "'what if' is not going to change the current situation." He spoke softly, but the doctor reacted as if having been smacked.

He ground his teeth, seething, apparently trying to reign in his temper. After a moment, he began, "What I don't understand…" before turning around again and giving me a long look. "A magnet can't explode just like that," he said and snipped his fingers. "It must be overcharged. Did you tinker with the power circuits in this experiment?" His eyes narrowed slightly.

Blushing in embarrassment, I mumbled, "Yeah."

Mr. Witwicky shared a surprised glance with Colonel Lennox while I had every other eye on me.

"Why?" Mr. Hatchett probed.

I bit my lip. Would they think me crazy? "It felt… good," I replied in a small voice. "The magnetic field of the MRT felt great and I wanted to relive it again, so when we had that experiment, I rerouted the power to increase the field's energy to being able to feel it once more. I didn't notice that the magnets got overcharged."

Mr. Hatchett's frown deepened, his eyes flashing in anger. "Fool of a teacher!" he then suddenly burst out, making us all jump. "You would think that he builds in a fail-safe to prevent an accident like that. Even our younglings never sent the academy flying with experimentations gone wrong." Mr. Witwicky chuckled at Mr. Hatchett's irritation while Mr. Prime slyly said, "Don't forget about Wheeljack."

Colonel Lennox deadpanned, "Students in physics usually aren't as smart as Chloe seems to be. They follow the teacher's directions, do the experiments and are done with it. They would never think about rerouting power to see what happens to them if the magnetic field strengthens."

Mr. Hatchett huffed, highly irritated. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Though, that explains how the dormant nanites got reactivated. As the field they created in physics wasn't altered like the one in the MRT, it would of course have an effect." I shared a skeptical look with Mom and Dad, and out of the corner of my eyes I noticed Mr. Witwicky and Colonel Lennox doing the same. Sighing in exasperation, Mr. Hatchett explained, "A magnetic field creates a natural resonance which coincides with the nanites' frequencies, vivifying them. The more minute the concurrence, the greater the incentive. I altered the MRT's magnetic field by introducing a variance that dissolved the resonance, inhibiting a concurrence. Otherwise, we would have woken up the dormant nanites. Despite that variance, the resonance impacted on the nanites, enough to in turn affect your body; that's why the scans felt pleasant to you, Chloe.

"During that experiment in your class, however, there was no manually added variance, only the natural resonance. It could therefore coincide with the nanites' frequency, thus reactivating the dormant nanites. The explosion of the overcharged magnets only increased the impact the resonance had on them. If the experiment hadn't yet woken them, the explosion certainly did. The nanites then used every last bit of themselves to further the transformation before their left-over energy dissipated within your system."

I pondered what I had just learned, nodding absent-mindedly. From what I knew of physics, his explanations sounded well-grounded. Though, everything taken together was a lot to take in and I would need time to accept that this was now my situation. Right now it felt like it all didn't concern me but someone else. I guessed the truth would have to fully sink in first.

There was one point left I didn't understand. "Why did you wait until today to tell me? Why not tell me when I signed the NDA?"

Mr. Witwicky gently asked, "Would you have believed it if they had told you everything at once and not given you time to first of all accept that there are aliens on our planet?"

He had a point. "No."

He smiled knowingly while Mom asked with a shaking voice, "And now? What's going to happen?"

"Now," Mr. Prime said, "Chloe must make a decision what she wants."

"I want to live," I blurted out, without needing time to think.

Mr. Hatchett caught my eyes. "Then report to me as soon as you're back from your trip to the states."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So, here we are at the end of chapter 22, and you're now probably wondering what the heck this author note is about as I usually only write one at the beginning. I'm afraid it'll be a bearer of some sad news:

Seeing that my story parallels "Introduction: Annabelle Lennox" by the Botosphere, it'll be on hold until the three ladies get back to writing out Annabelle's adventures. That being said, I _**will**_ continue with "Lyra." I'm not going to vanish in the dusky dawn. I still have lots of ideas and many things planned out for Chloe (several such scenes have already been written), enough to even warrant sequels to being able to fully tell her story. I know it's hard to make a cut just when things start getting really interesting, and I'm very eager to let you all read what'll happen to Chloe from here on out, but I ask for your patience. As soon as Annabelle's story continues to be told, Chloe's will be too. I hope to see you back when "Lyra" will be updated again.

Also, I wanted to say thank you where thank you's are due: Thank you all very much for your lovely feedback in the form of reviews, story alerts and/or setting "Lyra" to your favorites. Your support made me write faster to present you with regular updates.

Spark-felt thanks also go to Eowyn, Ish and Katey for allowing me to play within their fanon as well as use their OC's. "Lyra" wouldn't exist without the Botosphere, so thank you.

Last but not least, a very big thank you to my sister – for being the ball bouncing back ideas, the person getting my muse back on track when she was straying off-road, and for always giving me an honest opinion when I came up with another crazy thought (I'll just say "I ran out of milk" xD).

Finally, I wanted to tell you that, during the "break," I will work on other Transformers stories, so if you liked "Lyra," you might like my other stories too. I certainly would be happy to receive your feedback. :)


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